O F 'THE 

U N IVLRSITY 
Of  I LLI  N O I S 

From  the  Library  of 
Dr.  R.  E.  Hieronymus 
1942 

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From  the  Library  of 
Dr.  R.  E.  Hieronymus 
1942 


823 

LI6-U 

1 


X. 


PAGE. 


Romeo  and  Juliet 

King  Lear 

Othello 

Timon  of  Athens 

.Macbeth 

The  Merchant  of  Venice 

The  Comedy  of  Errors 

I Hamlet,  Prince  of  Denmark 

\ The  Tempest 

As  You  Like  it. 

Vol.  II. 

i Much  Ado  about  Nothing 

\ A Midsummer  Night’s  Dream 

' Measure  for  Measure 

The  Taming  of  the  Shrew 

; Twelfth  Night,  or  What  You  Will 

Pericles,  Prince  of  Tyre 

The  Winter’s  Tale 

All’s  Well  that  Ends  Well. 

Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona 

Cymbeline 

Life  of  Shakspeare 

Chronological  Order  of  Shakspeare’s  Dramas 


9 

35 

57 

77 

96 

*33 

154 

1 77 

*95 

5 

24 

42 

64 

80 

100 

I25 

142 

161 

180 

201 

231 


TALES 


FROM 

SHAKSPEA 


CHARLES  and  MARY  LAMB 


COMPLETE. 


TWO  VOLUMES  IN  ONE. 

J 


CHICAGO: 

DONOHUE,  HENNEBERRY  & CO. 

407-425  Dearborn  St. 


PREFACE. 


The  following  Tales  are  meant  to  be  sub- 
mitted to  the  young  reader  as  an  introduction 
to  the  study  of  Shakspeare,  for  which  purpose 
his  words  are  used  whenever  it  seemed  possible 
to  bring  them  in  : and  in  whatever  has  been 
added  to  give  them  the  regular  form  of  a con- 
nected story,  diligent  care  has  been  taken  to 
select  such  words  as  might  least  interrupt  the 
effect  of  the  beautiful  English  tongue  in  which 
he  wrote  : therefore  words  introduced  into  our 
language  since  his  time  have  been  as  far  as 
possible  avoided. 

In  those  Tales  which  have  been  taken  from 
the  Tragedies,  as  my  young  readers  will  per- 
ceive when  they  come  to  see  the  source  from 
which  these  stories  are  derived,  Shakspeare’s 
own  words,  with  little  alteration,  recur  very 
frequently  in  the  narrative  as  well  as  in  the 
dialogue ; but  in  those  made  from  the  Come- 
dies I found  myself  scarcely  ever  able  to  turn 
his  words  into  the  narrative  form  : therefore  I 
fear  in  them  I have  made  use  of  dialogue  too 
frequently  for  young  people  not  used  to  the 
dramatic  form  of  writing.  But  this  fault,  if  it 
be,  as  I fear,  a fault,  has  been  caused  by  my 


6 


PREFACE. 


earnest  wish  to  give  as  much  of  Shakspeare’s 
own  words  as  possible  : and  if  the  “ He  said” 
and  “ She  said”  the  question  and  the  reply, 
should  sometimes  seem  tedious  to  their  young 
ears,  they  must  pardon  it,  because  it  was  the 
only  way  I knew  of,  in  which  I could  give 
them  a few  hints  and  little  foretastes  of  the 
great  pleasure  which  awaits  them  in  their  elder 
years,  when  they  come  to  the  rich  treasures 
from  which  these  small  and  valueless  coins 
are  extracted  ; pretending  to  no  other  merit 
than  as  faint  and  imperfect  stamps  of  Shaks- 
peare’s matchless  image.  Faint  and  imperfect 
images  they  must  be  called,  because  the  beauty 
of  his  language  is  too  frequently  destroyed  by 
the  necessity  of  changing  many  of  his  excellent 
words  into  words  far  less  expressive  of  his 
true  sense,  to  make  it  read  something  like 
prose  ; and  even  in  some  places,  where  his 
blank  verse  is  given  unaltered,  as  hoping  from 
its  simple  plainness  to  cheat  the  young  readers 
into  the  belief  that  they  are  reading  prose,  yet 
still  his  language  being  transplanted  from  its 
own  natural  soil  and  wild  poetic  garden,  it 
must  want  much  of  its  native  beauty. 

I have  wished  to  make  these  Tales  easy 
reading  for  very  young  children.  To  the 
utmost  of  my  ability  I have  constantly  kept 
this  in  my  mind ; but  the  subjects  of  most  of 
them  made  this  a very  difficult  task.  It  was 
no  easy  matter  to  give  the  histories  of  men 
and  women  in  terms  familiar  to  the  apprehen- 
sion of  a very  young  mind.  For  young  ladies 


PREFACE. 


7 


too  it  has  been  my  intention  chiefly  to  write, 
because  boys  are  generally  permitted  the  use  of 
their  fathers’  libraries  at  a much  earlier  age 
than  girls  are  ; they  frequently  have  the  best 
scenes  of  Shakspeare  by  heart,  before  their 
sisters  are  permitted  to  look  into  this  manly 
book ; and,  therefore,  instead  of  recommend- 
ing these  Tales  to  the  perusal  of  young  gentle- 
men who  can  read  them  so  much  better  in  the 
originals,  I must  rather  beg  their  kind  assist- 
ance in  explaining  to  their  sisters  such  parts 
as  are  hardest  for  them  to  understand  ; and 
when  they  have  helped  them  to  get  over  the 
difficulties,  then  perhaps  they  will  read  to  them 
(carefully  selecting  what  is  proper  for  a young 
sister’s  ears)  some  passage  which  has  pleased 
them  in  one  of  these  stories,  in  the  very  words 
of  the  scene  from  which  it  is  taken  ; and  I 
trust  they  will  find  that  the  beautiful  extracts, 
the  select  passages,  they  may  choose  to  give 
their  sisters  in  this  way,  will  be  much  better 
relished  and  understood  from  their  having 
some  notion  of  the  general  story  from  one  of 
these  imperfect  abridgments  ; which  if  they  be 
fortunately  so  done  as  to  prove  delightful  to 
any  of  you,  my  young  readers,  I hope  will 
have  no  worse  effect  upon  you,  than  to  make 
you  wish  yourselves  a little  older,  that  you 
may  be  allowed  to  read  the  plays  at  full  length 
(such  a wish  will  be  neither  peevish  nor  irra- 
tional). When  time  and  leave  of  judicious 
friends  shall  put  them  into  your  hands,  you 
will  discover  in  such  of  them  as  are  here 


abridged  (not  to  mention  almost  as  many  more 
which  are  left  untouched)  many  surprising 
events  and  turns  of  fortune,  which  for  their 
infinite  variety  could  not  be  contained  in  this 
little  book,  besides  a world  of  sprightly  and 
cheerful  characters,  both  men  and  women,  the 
humor  of  which  I was  fearful  of  losing  if  I 
attempted  to  reduce  the  length  of  them. 

What  these  Tales  have  been  to  you  in  child- 
hood, that  and  much  more  it  is  my  wish  that 
the  true  plays  of  Shakspeare  may  prove  to  you 
in  older  years — enrichers  of  the  fancy,  strength- 
ened of  virtue,  a withdrawing  from  all  selfish 
and  mercenary  thoughts,  a lesson  of  all  sweet 
and  honorable  thoughts  and  actions,  to  teach 
you  courtesy,  benignity,  generosity,  humanity : 
for  of  examples,  teaching  these  virtues,  his 
pages  are  full. 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE, 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 

The  two  chief  families  in  Verona  were  the 
rich  Capulets  and  the  Montagues.  There  had 
been  an  old  quarrel  between  these  families, 
which  was  grown  to  such  a height,  and  so 
deadly  was  the  enmity  between  them,  that  it 
extended  to  the  remotest  kindred,  to  the  fol- 
lowers and  retainers  of  both  sides,  insomuch 
that  a servant  of  the  house  of  Montague  could 
not  meet  a servant  of  the  house  of  Capulet, 
nor  a Capulet  encounter  with  a Montague  by 
chance,  but  fierce  words  and  sometimes  blood- 
shed ensued  ; and  frequent  were  the  brawls 
from  such  accidental  meetings,  which  disturbed 
the  happy  quiet  of  Verona’s  estate. 

Old  lord  Capulet  made  a great  supper,  to 
which  many  fair  ladies  and  many  noble  guests 
were  invited.  All  the  admired  beauties  of 
Verona  were  present,  and  all  comers  were 
made  welcome  if  they  were  not  of  the  house 
of  Montague.  At  this  feast  of  Capulets,  Rosa- 

9 


IO 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


line,  beloved  of  Romeo,  son  to  the  old  lord 
Montague,  was  present ; and  though  it  was 
dangerous  for  a Montague  to  be  seen  in  this 
assembly,  yet  Benvolio,  a friend  of  Romeo,  per- 
suaded the  young  lord  to  go  to  this  assembly 
in  the  disguise  of  a mask,  that  he  might  see 
his  Rosaline,  and  seeing  her,  compare  her  with 
some  choice  beauties  of  Verona,  who  (he  said) 
would  make  him  think  his  swan  a crow.  Ro- 
meo had  small  faith  in  Benvolio’s  words ; 
nevertheless,  for  the  love  of  Rosaline,  he  was 
persuaded  to  go.  For  Romeo  was  a sincere 
and  passionate  lover,  and  one  that  lost  his 
sleep  for  love,  and  fled  society  to  be  alone, 
thinking  on  Rosaline,  who  disdained  him,  and 
never  requited  his  love  with  the  least  show  of 
courtesy  or  affection  ; and  Benvolio  wished  to 
cure  his  friend  of  this  love  by  showing  him 
diversity  of  ladies  and  company.  To  this  feast 
of  Capulets  then  young  Romeo  with  Benvolio 
and  their  friend  Mercutio  went  masked.  Old 
Capulet  bid  them  welcome,  and  told  them  that 
ladies  who  had  their  toes  unplagued  with  corns 
would  dance  with  them.  And  the  old  man 
was  light-hearted  and  merry,  and  said  that  he 
had  worn  a mask  when  he  was  young,  and 
could  have  told  a whispering  tale  in  a fair 
lady’s  ear.  And  they  fell  to  dancing,  and  Ro- 
meo was  suddenly  struck  with  the  exceeding 
beauty  of  a lady  that  danced  there,  who  seemed 
to  him  to  teach  the  torches  to  burn  bright,  and 
her  beauty  to  show  by  night  like  a rich  jewel 
worn  by  a blackamoor : beauty  too  rich  for 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET, 


1 1 


use,  too  dear  for  earth  ! like  a snowy  dove 
trooping  with  crows  (he  said),  so  richly  did 
her  beauty  and  perfections  shine  above  the 
ladies  her  companions.  While  he  uttered 
these  praises,  he  was  overheard  by  Tybalt,  a 
nephew  of  lord  Capulet,  who  knew  him  by  his 
voice  to  be  Romeo.  And  this  Tybalt,  being 
of  a fiery  and  passionate  temper,  could  not  en- 
dure that  a Montague  should  come  under 
cover  of  a mask,  to  fleer  and  scorn  (as  he 
said)  at  their  solemnities.  And  he  stormed 
and  raged  exceedingly,  and  would  have  struck 
young  Romeo  dead.  But  his  uncle,  the  old 
lord  Capulet,  would  not  suffer  him  to  do  any 
injury  at  that  time,  both  out  of  respect  to  his 
guests,  and  because  Romeo  had  borne  himself 
like  a gentleman,  and  all  tongues  in  Verona 
bragged  of  him  to  be  a virtuous  and  well- 
governed  youth.  Tybalt,  forced  to  be  patient 
against  his  will,  restrained  himself,  but  swore 
that  this  vile  Montague  should  at  another  time 
dearly  pay  for  his  intrusion. 

The  dancing  being  done,  Romeo  watched 
the  place  where  the  lady  stood  ; and  under 
favor  of  his  masking  habit,  which  might  seem 
to  excuse  in  part  the  liberty,  he  presumed  in 
the  gentlest  manner  to  take  her  by  the  hand, 
calling  it  a shrine,  which  if  he  profaned  by 
touching  it.  he  was  a blushing  pilgrim,  and 
would  kiss  it  for  atonement.  “ Good  pilgrim,” 
answered  the  lady,  “ your  devotion  shows  by 
far  too  mannerly  and  too  courtly  : saints  have 
hands,  which  pilgrims  may  touch,  but  kiss  not.” 


12 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


“Have  not  saints  lips,  and  pilgrims  too?” 
said  Romeo.  “ Ay,”  said  the  lady,  “ lips  which 
they  must  use  in  prayer.”  “ O then,  my  dear 
saint,”  said  Romeo,  “ hear  my  prayer  and 
grant  it,  lest  I despair.”  In  such  like  allu- 
sions and  loving  conceits  they  were  engaged, 
when  the  lady  was  called  away  to  her  mother. 
And  Romeo  inquiring  who  her  mother  was, 
discovered  that  the  lady  whose  peerless  beauty 
he  was  so  much  struck  with,  was  young  Juliet, 
daughter  and  heir  to  the  lord  Capulet,  the 
great  enemy  of  the  Montagues  ; and  that  he 
had  unknowingly  engaged  his  heart  to  his  foe. 
This  troubled  him,  but  it  could  not  dissuade 
him  from  loving.  As  little  rest  had  Juliet, 
when  she  found  that  the  gentleman  that  she 
had  been  talking  with  was  Romeo  and  a Mon- 
tague, for  she  had  been  suddenly  smit  with  the 
same  hasty  and  inconsiderate  passion  for  Ro- 
meo which  he  had  conceived  for  her  ; and  a 
prodigious  birth  of  love  it  seemed  to  her,  that 
she  must  love  her  enemy,  and  that  her  affec- 
tions should  settle  there,  where  family  consid- 
erations should  induce  her  chiefly  to  hate. 

It  being  midnight,  Romeo  with  his  com- 
panions departed  ; but  they  soon  missed  him, 
for  unable  to  stay  away  from  the  house  where 
he  had  left  his  heart,  he  leaped  the  wall  of  an 
orchard  which  was  at  the  back  of  Juliet’s  house. 
Here  he  had  not  remained  long,  ruminating 
on  his  new  love,  when  Juliet  appeared  above 
at  a window,  through  which  her  exceeding 
beauty  seemed  to  break  like  the  light  of  the  sun 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


13 


in  the  east ; and  the  moon,  which  shone  in  the 
orchard  with  a faint  light  appeared  to  Romeo 
as  if  sick  and  pale  with  grief  at  the  superior 
luster  of  this  new  sun.  And  she  leaning  her 
hand  upon  her  cheek,  he  passionately  wished 
himself  a glove  upon  that  hand,  that  he 
might  touch  her  cheek.  She  all  this  while 
thinking  herself  alone,  fetched  a deep  sigh, 
and  exclaimed,  “ Ah  me ! ” Romeo  was 
enraptured  to  hear  her  speak,  and  said  softly, 
unheard  by  her,  “ O speak  again,  bright  angel, 
for  such  you  appear,  being  over  my  head,  like 
a winged  messenger  from  heaven  whom  mortals 
fall  back  to  gaze  upon.”  She,  unconscious  of 
being  overheard,  and  full  of  the  new  passion 
which  that  night’s  adventure  had  given  birth 
to,  called  upon  her  lover  by  name  (whom  she 
supposed  absent)  : “ O Romeo,  Romeo  ! ” 

said  she,  “ wherefore  art  thou  Romeo  ? Deny 
thy  father,  and  refuse  thy  name,  for  my  sake  ; 
or  if  thou  wilt  not,  be  but  my  sworn  love,  and 
I no  longer  will  be  a Capulet.”  Romeo,  hav- 
ing this  encouragement,  would  fain  have 
spoken,  but  he  was  desirous  of  hearing  more ; 
and  the  lady  continued  her  passionate  dis- 
course with  herself  (as  she  thought),  still  chid- 
ing Romeo  for  being  Romeo  and  a Montague, 
and  wishing  him  some  other  name,  or  that  he 
would  put  away  the  hated  name,  and  for  that 
name,  which  was  no  part  of  himself,  he  should 
take  all  herself.  At  this  loving  word  Romeo 
could  no  longer  refrain,  but  taking  up  the 
dialogue  as  if  her  words  had  been  addressed 


14  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 

to  him  personally,  and  not  merely  in  fancy,  he 
bade  her  call  him  Love,  or  by  whatever  other 
name  she  pleased,  for  he  was  no  longer  Romeo, 
if  that  name  was  displeasing  to  her.  Juliet, 
alarmed  to  hear  a man’s  voice  in  the  garden,  did 
not  at  first  know  who  it  was,  that  by  favor  of 
the  night  and  darkness  had  thus  stumbled  upon 
the  discovery  of  her  secret ; but  when  he  spoke 
again,  though  her  ears  had  not  yet  drunk  a 
hundred  words  of  that  tongue’s  uttering,  yet 
so  nice  is  a lover’s  hearing,  that  she  immedi- 
ately knew  him  to  be  young  Romeo,  and  she 
expostulated  with  him  on  the  danger  t which 
he  -had  exposed  himself  by  dim  'ng  the 
orchard  walls,  for  if  any  of  her  kinsmen  should 
find  him  there,  it  would  be  death  to  him, 
being  a Montague.  “ Alack,”  said  Romeo, 
“ there  is  more  peril  in  your  eye,  than  in  twenty 
of  their  swords.  Do  you  but  look  kind  upon 
me,  lady,  and  I am  proof  against  their  enmity. 
Better  my  life  should  be  ended  by  their  hate, 
than  that  hated  life  should  be  prolonged,  to 
live  without  your  love.”  “ How  came  you 
into  this  place,”  said  Juliet,  “ and  by  whose 
direction  ? ” “ Love  directed  me,”  answered 
Romeo  : “ I am  no  pilot,  yet  wert  thou  as  far 
apart  from  me,  as  tbrt  vast  shore  which  is 
washed  with  the  farthest  sea,  I should  advent- 
ure for  such  merchandise.”  A crimson  blush 
came  over  the  face  f T let,  yet  unseen  by 
Romeo  upon  the  discovery  which  she  had 
reflected  by  reason  of  the  night,  when  she 
made,  yet  not  meaning  to  make  it,  of  her  love 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET,  15 

to  Romeo.  She  would  fain  have  recalled  her 
words,  but  that  was  impossible;  fain  would 
she  have  stood  upon  form,  and  have  kept  her 
lover  at  a distance,  as  the  custom  of  discreet 
ladies  is,  to  frown  and  be  perverse,  and  give  their 
suitors  harsh  denials  at  first ; to  stand  off,  and 
affect  a coyness  or  indifference,  where  they 
most  love,  that  their  lovers  may  not  think  them 
too  lightly  or  too  easily  won  : for  the  difficulty 
of  attainment  increases  the  value  of  the  object* 
But  there  was  no  room  in  her  case  for  denials* 
or  puttings  off,  or  any  of  the  customary  arts 
of  delay  and  protractive  courtship.  Romeo 
had  heard  from  her  own  tongue,  when  she  did 
not  dream  that  he  was  near  her,  a confession 
of  her  love.  So  with  an  honest  frankness, 
which  the  novelty  of  her  situation  excused, 
she  confirmed  the  truth  of  what  he  had  before 
heard,  and  addressing  him  by  the  name  of  fair 
Montague  (love  can  sweeten  a sour  name),  she 
begged  him  not  to  impute  her  easy  yielding  to 
levity  or  an  unworthy  mind,  but  that  he  must 
lay  the  fault  of  it  (if  it  were  a fault)  upon  the 
accident  of  the  night  which  had  so.  strangely 
discovered  her  thoughts.  And  she  added, 
that  though  her  behavior  to  him  might  net 
be  sufficiently  prudent,  measured  by  the  cus- 
tom of  her  sex,  yet  that  she  would  prove  more 
true  than  many  whose  prudence  was  dissem- 
bling, and  their  modesty  artificial  cunning. 

Romeo  was  beginning  to  call  the  heavens  to 
witness  that  nothing  was  farther  from  his 
thoughts  than  to  impute  a shadow  of  dishonor 


16  TALES  FROM  SHA  KS PE  ARE. 

to  such  an  honored  lady,  when  she  stopped 
him,  begged  him  not  to  swear  : for  although 
she  joyed  in  him,  yet  she  had  no  joy  of  that 
night’s  contract ; it  was  too  rash,  too  unad- 
vised, too  sudden.  But  he  being  urgent  with 
her  to  exchange  a vow  of  love  with  her  that 
night,  she  said  that  she  already  had  given 
him  hers  before  he  requested  it;  meaning, 
when  he  overheard  her  confession  ; but  she 
would  retract  what  she  then  bestowed,  for 
the  pleasure  of  giving  it  again,  for  her  bounty 
was  as  infinite  as  the  sea,  and  her  love  as 
deep.  From  this  loving  conference  she  was 
called  away  by  her  nurse,  who  slept  with 
her,  and  thought  it  time  for  her  to  be  in  bed* 
for  it  was  near  to  daybreak ; but  hastily 
returning,  she  said  three  or  four  words  more 
to  Romeo,  the  purport  of  which  was,  that 
if  his  love  was  indeed  honorable,  and  his 
purpose  marriage,  she  would  send  a mes- 
senger to  him  to-morrow,  to  appoint  a time 
for  their  marriage,  when  she  would  lay  all  her 
fortunes  at  his  feet,  and  follow  him  as  her  lord 
through  the  world.  While  they  were  settling 
this  point,  Juliet  was  repeatedly  called  for  by 
her  nurse,  and  went  in  and  returned,  and  went 
and  returned  again,  for  she  seemed  as  jealous 
of  Romeo  going  from  from  her,  as  a young 
girl  of  her  bird,  which  she  will  let  hop  a little 
from  her  hand,  and  pluck  it  back  with  a silken 
thread  ; and  Romeo  was  as  loath  to  part  as 
she  : for  the  sweetest  music  to  lovers  is  the 
sound  of  each  other’s  tongues  at  night.  But 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET.  17 

at  last  they  parted,  wishing  mutually  sweet 
sleep  and  rest  for  that  night. 

The  day  was  breaking  when  they  parted, 
and  Romeo,  who  was  too  full  of  thoughts  of 
his  mistress  and  that  blessed  meeting  to  allow 
him  to  sleep,  instead  of  going  home,  bent  his 
course  to  a monastery  hard  by,  to  find  friar 
Lawrence.  The  good  friar  was  already  up  at 
his  devotions,  but  seeing  young  Romeo  abroad 
so  early,  he  conjectured  rightly  that  he  had 
not  been  abed  that  night,  but  that  some  dis- 
temper of  youthful  affection  had  kept  him 
waking.  He  was  right  in  imputing  the  cause 
of  Romeo’s  wakefulness  to  love,  but  he  made 
a wrong  guess  at  the  object,  for  he  thought 
that  his  love  for  Rosaline  had  kept  him  waking. 
But  when  Romeo  revealed  his  new  passion  for 
Juliet,  and  requested  the  assistance  of  the 
friar  to  marry  them  that  day,  the  holy  man 
lifted  up  his  eyes  and  hands  in  a sort  of 
wonder  at  the  sudden  change  in  Romeo’s 
affections,  for  he  had  been  privy  to  all  Romeo’s 
love  for  Rosaline,  and  his  many  complaints  of 
her  disdain  ; and  he  said  that  young  men’s  love 
lay  not  truly  in  their  hearts,  but  in  their  eyes. 
But  Romeo  replying  that  he  himself  had  often 
chidden  him  for  doting  on  Rosaline,  who  could 
not  love  him  again,  whereas  Juliet  both  loved 
and  was  beloved  by  him,  the  friar  assented  in 
some  measure  to  his  reasons ; and  think  that 
a matrimonial  alliance  between  young  Juliet 
and  Romeo  might  happily  be  the  means  of 
making  up  the  long  breach  between  the 
2 


i8 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


Capulets  and  the  Montagues,  which  no  one 
more  lamented  than  this  good  friar,  who  was 
a friend  to  both  the  families,  and  had  often 
interposed  his  mediation  to  make  up  the 
quarrel  without  effect,  partly  moved  by  policy, 
and  partly  by  her  fondness  for  young  Romeo 
to  whom  he  could  deny  nothing,  the  old  man 

Now  was  Romeo  blessed  indeed,  and  Juliet, 
who  knew  his  intent  from  a messenger  which 
she  had  despatched  according  to  promise,  did 
not  fail  to  be  early  at  the  cell  of  friar  Lawrence, 
where  their  hands  were  joined  in  holy  marriage  ; 
the  good  friar  praying  the  heavens  to  smile 
upon  that  act,  and  in  the  union  of  this  young 
Montague  and  young  Capulet  to  bury  the  old 
strife  and  long  dissension  of  their  families. 

The  ceremony  being  over,  Juliet  hastened 
home,  where  she  stayed  impatient  for  the  com- 
ing of  night,  at  which  time  Romeo  promised 
to  come  and  meet  her  in  the  orchard,  where 
they  had  met  the  night  before  ; and  the  time 
between  seemed  as  tedious  to  her  as  the  night 
before  some  great  festival  seems  to  an  im- 
patient child  that  has  got  new  finery  which  it 
may  not  put  on  till  the  morning. 

That  same  day  about  noon,  Romeo’s  friends, 
Benvolio  and  Mercutio,  walking  through  the 
streets  of  Verona,  were  met  by  a party  of  the 
Capulets  with  the  impetuous  Tybalt  at  their 
head.  This  was  the  same  angry  Tybalt  who 
would  have  fought  with  Romeo  at  old  lord 
Capulet’s  feast.  He  seeing  Mercutio,  accused 
him  bluntly  of  associating  with  Romeo,  a 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


T9 


Montague.  Mercutio,  who  had  as  much  fire 
and  youthful  blood  in  him  as  Tybalt,  replied 
to  this  accusation  with  some  sharpness ; and 
in  spite  of  all  Benvolio  could  say  to  moderate 
their  wrath,  a quarrel  was  beginning  when 
Romeo  himself  passing  that  way,  the  fierce 
Tybalt  turned  from  Mercutio  to  Romeo,  and 
gave  him  the  disgraceful  appellation  of  villain. 
Romeo  wished  to  avoid  a quarrel  with  Tybalt 
above  all  men,  because  he  was  the  kinsman  of 
Juliet,  and  much  beloved  by  her;  besides  this 
young  Montague  had  never  thoroughly  entered 
into  the  family  quarrel,  being  by  nature  wise 
and  gentle,  and  the  name  of  a Capulet,  which 
was  his  dear  lady’s  name,  was  now  rather  a 
charm  to  allay  resentment  than  a watchword 
to  excite  fury.  So  he  tried  to  reason  with 
Tybalt,  whom  he  saluted  mildly  by  the  name 
of  good  Capulet,  as  if  he,  though  a Montague, 
had  some  secret  pleasure  in  uttering  that  name  ; 
but  Tybalt,  who  hated  all  Montagues  as.  he 
hated  hell,  would  hear  no  reason,  but  drew  his 
weapon  ; and  Mercutio,  who  knew  not  of 
Romeo’s  secret  motive  for  desiring  peace  with 
Tybalt,  but  looked  upon  his  present  forbearance 
as  a sort  of  calm  dishonorable  submission, 
with  many  disdainful  words  provoked  Tybalt 
to  the  prosecution  of  his  first  quarrel  with  him  ; 
and  Tybalt  and  Mercutio  fought,  till  Mercu- 
tio fell,  receiving  his  death’s  wound  while 
Romeo  and  Benvolio  were  vainly  endeavoring 
to  part  the  combatants.  Mercutio  being  dead, 
Romeo  kept  his  temper  no  longer,  but  returned 


20 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


the  scornful  appellation  of  villain  which  Tybalt 
had  given  him  ; and  they  fought  till  Tybalt 
was  slain  by  Romeo.  This  deadly  broil  fall- 
ing out  in  the  midst  of  Verona  at  noonday,  the 
news  of  it  quickly  brought  out  a crowd  of 
citizens  to  the  spot,  and  among  them  the  old 
lords  Capulet  and  Montague,  with  their  wives  ; 
and  soon  after  arrived  the  prince  himself,  who, 
being  related  to  Mercutio,  whom  Tybalt  had 
slain,  and  having  had  the  peace  of  his  govern- 
ment often  disturbed  by  these  brawls  of  Mon- 
tagues and  Capulets,  came  determined  to  put  the 
law  in  strictest  force  against  those  who  should 
be  found  to  be  offenders.  Benvolio,  who  had 
been  eyewitness  to  the  fray,  was  commanded 
by  the  prince  to  relate  the  origin  of  it,  which 
he  did,  keeping  as  near  to  the  truth  as  he 
could  without  injury  to  Romeo,  softening  and 
excusing  the  part  which  his  friends  took  in  it. 
Lady  Capulet,  whose  extreme  grief  for  the  loss 
of  her  kinsman  Tybalt  made  her  keep  no  bounds 
in  her  revenge,  exhorted  the  prince  to  do  strict 
justice  upon  his  murderer,  and  to  pay  no 
attention  to  Benvolio’s  representation,  who 
being  Romeo’s  friend,  and  a Montague,  spoke 
partially.  Thus  she  pleaded  against  her  new 
son-in-law,  but  she  knew  not  yet  that  he  was 
her  son-in-law,  and  Juliet’s  husband.  On  the 
other  hand  was  to  be  seen  lady  Montague 
pleading  for  her  child’s  life,  and  arguing  with 
some  justice  that  Romeo  had  done  nothing 
worthy  of  punishment  in  taking  the  life  of 
Tybalt,  which  was  already  forfeited  to  the  law 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


21 


by  his  having  slain  Mercutio.  The  prince, 
unmoved  by  the  passionate  exclamations  of 
these  women,  on  a careful  examination  of  the 
facts,  pronounced  his  sentence,  and  by  that 
sentence  Romeo  was  banished  from  Verona. 

Heavy  news  to  young  Juliet,  who  had  been 
but  a few  hours  a bride,  and  now  by  this  de- 
cree seemed  everlastingly  divorced  1 When 
the  tidings  reached  her,  she  at  first  gave  way 
to  rage  against  Romeo,  who  had  slain  her  dear 
cousin ; she  called  him  a beautiful  tyrant,  a 
fiend  angelical,  a ravenous  dove,  a lamb  with 
a wolf’s  nature,  a serpent-heart  hid  with  a 
flowering  face,  and  other  like  contradictory 
names,  which  denoted  the  struggles  in  her 
mind  between  her  love  and  her  resentment : 
but  in  the  end  love  got  the  mastery,  and  the 
tears  which  she  shed  for  grief  that  Romeo 
had  slain  her  cousin,  turned  to  drops  of  joy 
that  her  husband  lived  whom  Tybalt  would 
have  slain.  Then  came  fresh  tears,  and  they 
were  altogether  of  grief  for  Romeo’s  banish- 
ment. That  word  was  more  terrible  to  her 
than  the  death  of  many  Tybalts. 

Romeo,  after  the  fray,  had  taken  refuge  in 
friar  Lawrence’s  cell,  where  he  was  first  made 
acquainted  with  the  prince’s  sentence,  which 
seemed  to  him  far  more  terrible  than  death. 
To  him  it  appeared  there  was  no  world  out  of 
Verona’s  walls,  no  living  out  of  the  sight  of 
Juliet.  Heaven  was  there  where  Juliet  lived, 
and  all  beyond  was  purgatory,  torture,  hell. 
The  good  friar  would  have  applied  the  conso- 


22 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


lation  of  philosophy  to  his  griefs ; but  this 
frantic  young  man  would  hear  of  none,  but 
like  a madman  he  tore  his  hair,  and  threw 
himself  all  along  upon  the  ground,  as  he  said 
to  take  the  measure  of  his  grave.  From  this 
unseemly  state  he  was  roused  by  a message 
from  his  dear  lady,  which  a little  revived  him, 
and  then  the  friar  took  the  advantage  to  ex- 
postulate with  him  on  the  unmanly  weakness 
which  he  had  shown.  He  had  slain  Tybalt,  but 
would  he  also  slay  himself,  slay  his  dear  lady 
who  lived  but  in  his  life  ? The  noble  form  of 
man,  he  said,  was  but  a shape  of  wax,  when  it 
wanted  the  courage  which  should  keep  it  firm. 
The  law  had  been  lenient  to  him,  that  instead 
of  death,  which  he  had  incurred,  had  pro- 
nounced by  the  prince’s  mouth  only  banish- 
ment. He  had  slain  Tybalt,  but  Tybalt  would 
have  slain  him  : there  was  a sort  of  happiness 
in  that.  Juliet  was  alive,  and  (beyond  all  hope) 
had  become  his  dear  wife,  therein  he  was 
most  happy.  All  these  blessings,  as  the  friar 
made  them  out  to  be,  did  Romeo  put  from  him 
like  a sullen,  misbehaved  wench.  And  the 
friar  bade  him  beware,  for  such  as  despaired 
(he  said)  died  miserable.  Then  when  Romeo 
was  a little  calmed,  he  counseled  him  that  he 
should  go  that  night  and  secretly  take  his  leave 
of  Juliet,  and  thence  proceed  straightways  to 
Mantua,  at  which  place  he  should  sojourn, 
till  the  friar  found  a fit  occasion  to  publish  his 
marriage,  which  might  be  a joyful  means  of 
reconciling  their  families  ; and  then  he  did 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. \ 


23 


not  doubt  but  the  prince  would  be  moved  to 
pardon  him,  and  he  would  return  with  twenty 
times  more  joy  than  he  went  forth  with  grief. 
Romeo  was  convinced  by  these  wise  counsels 
of  the  friar,  and  took  his  leave  to  go  and  seek 
his  lady,  purposing  to  stay  with  her  that  night, 
and  by  daybreak  pursue  his  journey  alone  to 
Mantua ; to  which  place  the  good  friar  promised 
to  send  him  letters  from  time  to  time,  acquaint- 
ing him  with  the  state  of  affairs  at  home. 

That  night  Romeo  passed  with  his  dear  wife, 
gaining  secret  admission  to  her  chamber  from 
the  orchard  in  which  he  had  heard  her  con- 
fession of  love  the  night  before.  That  had 
been  a night  of  unmixed  joy  and' rapture  ; but 
the  pleasures  of  this  night,  and  the  delight 
which  these  lovers  took  in  each  other’s  society, 
were  sadly  allayed  with  the  prospect  of  parting, 
and  the  fatal  adventures  of  the  past  day.  The 
unwelcome  daybreak  seemed  to  come  too  soon, 
and  when  Juliet  heard  the  morning  song  of  the 
lark,  she  would  fain  have  persuaded  herself 
that  it  was  the  nightingale,  which  sings  by 
night  : but  it  was  too  truly  the  lark  which 
sung,  and  a discordant  and  unpleasing  note  it 
seemed  to  her  ; and  the  streaks  of  day  in  the 
east  too  certainly  pointed  out  that  it  was  time 
for  these  lovers  to  part.  Romeo  took  his  leave 
of  his  dear  wife  with  a heavy  heart,  promising 
to  write  to  her  from  Mantua  every  hour  in  the 
day,  and  when  he  had  descended  from  her 
chamber-window,  as  he  stood  below  her  on  the 
ground,  in  that  sad  foreboding  state  of  mind, 


24 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


in  which  she  was,  he  appeared  to  her  eyes  as 
one  dead  in  the  bottom  of  a tomb.  Romeo’s 
mind  misgave  him  in  like  manner  ; but  now 
he  was  forced  hastily  to  depart,  for  it  was 
death  for  him  to  be  found  within  the  walls  of 
Verona  after  daybreak. 

This  was  but  the  beginning  of  the  tragedy 
of  this  pair  of  star-crossed  lovers.  Romeo 
had  not  been  gone  many  days,  before  the  old 
lord  Capulet  proposed  a match  for  Juliet.  The 
husband  he  had  chosen  for  her,  not  dreaming 
that  she  was  married  already,  was  count  Paris, 
a gallant,  young,  and  noble  gentleman,  no  un- 
worthy suitor  to  the  young  Juliet  if  she  had 
never  seen  Romeo. 

The  terrified  Juliet  was  in  a sad  perplexity 
at  her  father’s  offer.  She  pleaded  her  youth 
unsuitable  to  marriage,  the  recent  death  of 
Tybalt,  which  had  left  her  spirits  too  weak  to 
meet  a husband  with  any  face  of  joy,  and  how 
indecorous  it  would  show  for  the  family  of 
the  Capulets  to  be  celebrating  a nuptial-feast, 
when  his  funeral  solemnities  were  hardly 
over  : she  pleaded  every  reason  against  the 
match  but  the  true  one,  namely,  that  she  was 
married  already.  But  lord  Capulet  was  deaf 
to  all  her  excuses,  and  in  a peremptory  man- 
ner ordered  her  to  get  ready,  for  by  the  follow- 
ing Thursday  she  should  be  married  to  Paris : 
and  having  found  her  a husband  rich,  young, 
and  noble,  such  as  the  proudest  maid  in  Verona 
might  joyfully  accept,  he  could  not  bear  that 
out  of  an  affected  coyness,  as  he  construed  her 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET.  25 

denial,  she  should  oppose  obstacles  to  her  own 
good  fortune. 

In  this  extremity,  Juliet  applied  to  the 
friendly  friar,  always  her  counsellor  in  dis- 
tress, and  he  asking  her  if  she  had  resolution 
to  undertake  a desperate  remedy,  and  she 
answering  that  she  would  go  into  the  grave 
alive,  rather  than  marry  Paris,  her  own  dear 
husband  living ; he  directed  her  to  go  home, 
and  appear  merry,  and  give  her  consent  to 
marry  Paris,  according  to  her  father’s  desire 
and  on  the  next  night,  which  was  the  night 
before  the  marriage,  to  drink  off  the  contents 
of  a phial  which  he  then  gave  her,  the  effect 
of  which  would  be,  that  for  two-and-forty  hours 
after  drinking  it  she  should  appear  cold  and 
lifeless ; that  when  the  bridegroom  came  to 
fetch  her  in  the  morning,  he  would  find  her  to 
appearance  dead ; that  then  she  would  be 
borne,  as  the  manner  in  that  country  was,  un- 
covered, on  a bier,  to  be  buried  in  the  family 
vault ; that  if  she  could  put  off  womanish  fear, 
and  consent  to  this  terrible  trial,  in  forty-two 
hours  after  swallowing  the  liquid  (such  was  its 
certain  operation)  she  would  be  sure  to  awake, 
as  from  a dream  • and  before  she  should  awake, 
he  would  let  her  husband  know  their  drift, 
and  he  should  come  in  thenigl  t and  bear  her 
thence  to  Mantua.  Love,  and  the  dread  of 
marrying  Paris,  gave  young  Juliet  strength  to 
undertake  this  horrible  adventure  ; and  she 
took  the  phial  of  the  friar,  promising  to  ob- 
serve his  directions.  # 


26 


TALES  FROM  SHARSPEARE. 


Going  from  the  monastery,  she  met  the 
young  count  Paris,  and  modestly  dissembling, 
promised  to  become  his  bride.  This  was  joy- 
ful news  to  the  lord  Capulet  and  his  wife.  It 
seemed  to  put  youth  into  the  old  man ; and 
Juliet,  who  had  displeased  him  exceedingly  by 
her  refusal  of  the  count,  was  his  darling  again, 
now  she  promised  to  be  obed  ent.  All  things 
in  the  house  were  in  a bustle  against  the  ap- 
proaching nuptials.  No  cost  was  spared  to 
prepare  such  festival  rejoicings  as  Verona  had 
never  before  witnessed. 

On  the  Wednesday  night  Juliet  drank  off 
the  potion.  She  had  many  misgivings,  lest 
the  friar,  to  avoid  the  blame  which  might  be 
imputed  to  him'  for  marrying  her  to  Romeo, 
haWgiven  Her  poison  ; but  then  he  was  always 
known  for  a holy  man  : then  lest  she  should 
awake  before  the  time  that  Romeo  was  to  come 
for  her,  whether  the  terror  of  the  place,  a 
vault  full  of  dead  Capulets’  bones,  and  where 
Tybalt,  all  bloody,  lay  festering  in  his  shroud, 
would  not  be  enough  to  drive  her  distracted  : 
again  she  thought  of  all  the  stories  she  had 
heard  of  spirits  haunting  the  places  where 
their  bodies  were  bestowed.  But  then  her 
love  for  Romeo,  and  her  aversion  for  Paris 
returned,  and  she  desperately  swallowed  the 
draught,  and  became  insensible. 

When  young  Paris  came  early  in  the  morn- 
ing with  music,  to  awaken  his  bride,  instead 
of  a living  Juliet,  her  chamber  presented  the 
dreary  spectacle  of  a lifeless  corpse.  What 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


27 


death  to  his  hopes!  What  confusion  then 
reigned  through  the  whole  house  ! Poor  Paris 
lamenting  his  bride,  whom  most  detestable 
death  had  beguiled  him  of,  had  divorced  from 
him  even  before  their  hands  were  joined.  But 
still  more  piteous  it  was  to  hear  the  mournings 
of  the  old  lord  and  lady  Capulet,  who  having 
but  this  one,  one  poor  lov;ng  child  to  rejoice 
and  solace  in,  cruel  death  had  snatched  her 
from  their  sight,  just  as  these  careful  parents 
were  on  the  point  of  seeing  her  advanced  (as 
they  thought)  by  a promising  and  advantageous 
match.  Now  all  things  that  were  ordained 
for  the  festival  were  turned  from  their  proper- 
ties to  do  the  office  of  a black  funeral.  The 
wedding  cheer  served  for  a sad  burial  feast, 
the  bridal  hymns  were  changed  to  sullen 
dirges,  the  sprightly  instruments  to  melancholy 
bells,  and  the  flowers  that  should  have  been 
strewed  in  the  bride’s  path,  now  served  but  to 
strew  her  corse.  Now  instead  of  a priest  to 
marry  her,  a priest  was  needed  to  bury  her ; 
and  she  was  borne  to  church  indeed  not  to 
augmen  the  cheerful  hopes  of  the  living,  but 
to  swel-  the  dreary  numbers  of  the  dead. 

Bad  news,  wh  ch  always  travels  faster  than 
good,  now  brought  the  dismal  story  of  his 
Junet’s  death  to  Romeo  at  Mantua,  before  the 
messenger  could  arrive  who  was  sent  from 
friar  Lawrence  to  app  ise  him  that  these  were 
mock  funerals  only,  and  but  the  shadow  and 
representation  of  death,  and  that  his  dear  lady 
lay  in  the  tomb  but  for  a short  while,  expect- 


28 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


ing  when  Romeo  should  come  to  release  her 
from  that  dreary  mansion.  Just  before,  Romeo 
had  been  unusually  joyful  and  lighthearted. 
He  had  dreamed  in  the  night  that  he  was  dead 
(a  strange  dream,  that  gave  a dead  man  leave 
to  think),  and  that  his  lady  came  and  found 
him  dead,  and  breathed  such  life  with  kisses 
in  his  lips,  that  he  revived,  and  was  an  em- 
peror ! And  now  that  a messenger  came  from 
Verona,  he  thought  surely  it  was  to  confirm 
some  good  news  which  his  dreams  had  pre- 
saged. But  when  the  contrary  to  this  flatter- 
ing vision  appeared,  and  that  it  was  his  lady 
who  was  dead  in  truth,  whom  he  could  not  re- 
vive by  any  kisses,  he  ordered  horses  to  be 
got  ready,  for  he  determined  that  night  to  visit 
Verona,  and  to  see  his  lady  in  her  tomb.  And 
as  mischief  is  swift  to  enter  into  the  thoughts 
of  desperate  men,  he  called  to  mind  a poor 
apothecary,  whose  shop  in  Mantua  he  had 
lately  passed,  and  from  the  beggarly  appear- 
ance of  the  man,  who  seemed  famished,  and 
the  wretched  show  in  his  shop  of  empty  boxes 
ranged  on  dirty  shelves,  and  other  tokens  of 
extreme  wretchedness,  he  had  said  at  the  time 
(perhaps  having  some  misgiv’ngs  that  his  own 
disastrous  life  might  haply  meet  with  a conclu- 
sion so  desperate),  <c  If  a man  were  to  need 
poison,  which  by  the  law  of  Mantua  it  is  death 
to  sell,  here  lives  a poor  wretch  who  would 
sell  it  him.”  These  words  of  his  now  came 
into  his  mind,  and  he  sought  out  the  apothe- 
cary, who,  after  some  pretended  scruples, 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


29 


Romeo  offering  him  gold  which  his  poverty 
could  not  resist,  sold  him  a poison,  which,  if  he 
swallowed,  he  told  him,  if  he  had  the  strength 
of  twenty  men,  would  quickly  despatch  him. 

With  this  poison  he  set  out  for  Verona,  to 
have  a sight  of  his  dear  lady  in  her  tomb, 
meaning,  when  he  had  satisfied  his  sight,  to 
swallow  the  poison,  and  be  buried  by  her  side. 
He  reached  Verona  at  midnight,  and  found 
the  churchyard,  in  the  midst  of  which  was 
situated  the  ancient  tomb  of  the  Capulets. 
He  had  provided  a light,  and  a spade,  and 
wrenching  iron,  and  was  proceeding  to  break 
open  the  monument,  when  he  was  interrupted 
by  a voice,  which  by  the  name  of  vile  Montaguey 
bade  him  desist  from  his  unlawful  business. 
It  was  the  young  count  Paris,  who  had  come 
to  the  tomb  of  Juliet  at  that  unseasonable  time 
of  night,  to  strew  flowers,  and  to  weep  over  the 
grave  of  her  that  should  have  been  his  bride. 
He  knew  not  what  an  interest  Romeo  had  in 
the  dead,  but  knowing  him  to  be  a Montague, 
and  (as  he  supposed)  a sworn  foe  to  all  the 
Capulets,  he  judged  that  he  was  come  by  night 
to  do  some  villanous  shame  to  the  dead  bodies  ; 
therefore  in  angry  tone  he  bade  him  desist 
and  as  a criminal,  condemned  by  the  laws  of 
Verona  to  die  if  he  were  found  within  the  walls 
of  the  city,  he  would  have  apprehended  him. 
Romeo  urged  Paris  to  leave  him,  and  warned 
him  by  the  fate  of  Tybalt,  who  lay  buried  there, 
not  to  provoke  his  anger,  or  draw  down  another 
sin  upon  his  head,  by  forcing  him  to  kill  him. 


3° 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


But  the  count  in  scorn  refused  his  warning, 
and  laid  hands  on  him  as  a felon,  which 
Romeo  resisting,  they  fought,  and  Paris  fell. 
When  Romeo,  by  the  help  of  a light,  came  to 
see  who  it  was  that  he  had  slain,  that  it  was 
Paris,  who  (he  learned  in  his  way  from  Mantua) 
should  have  married  Juliet,  he  took  the  dead 
youth  by  the  hand,  as  one  whom  misfortune 
had  made  a companion,  and  said  that  he  would 
bury  him  in  a triumphal  grave,  meaning  in 
Juliet’s  grave,  which  he  now  opened  : and  there 
lay  his  lady,  as  one  whom  death  had  no  power 
upon  to  change  a feature  or  complexion  in 
her  matchless  beauty,  or  as  if  Death  were 
amorous,  and  the  lean  abhorred  monster  kept 
her  there  for  his  delight ; for  she  lay  yet  fresh 
and  blooming,  as  she  had  fallen  to  sleep  when 
she  swallowed  that  benumbing  potion : and 
near  her  lay  Tybalt  in  his  bloody  shroud,  whom 
Romeo  seeing,  begged  pardon  of  his  lifeless 
corse,  and  for  Juliet’s  sake  called  him  cousin, 
and  said  that  he  was  about  to  do  him  a favor 
by  putting  his  enemy  to  death.  Here  Romeo 
took  his  last  leave  of  his  lady’s  lips,  kissing 
them ; and  here  he  shook  the  burden  of  his 
cross  stars  from  his  weary  body,  swallowing 
that  poison  which  the  apothecary  had  sold  him, 
whose  operation  was  fatal  and  real,  not  like 
that  dissembling  potion  which  Juliet  had  swal- 
lowed, the  effect  of  which  was  now  nearly  ex- 
piring, and  she  about  to  awake  to  complain 
that  Romeo  had  not  kept  his  time,  or  that  he 
had  come  too  soon. 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET.  31 

For  now  the  hour  was  arrived  at  which  the 
friar  had  promised  that  she  should  awake  ; and 
he,  having  learned  that  his  letters  which  he  had 
sent  to  Mantua,  by  some  unlucky  detention  of 
the  messenger,  had  never  reached  Romeo, 
came  himself,  provided  with  a pickaxe  and 
lantern,  to  deliver  the  lady  from  her  confine- 
ment ; but  he  was  surprised  to  find  a light 
already  burning  in  the  Capulets’  monument, 
and  to  see  swords  and  blood  near  it,  and 
Romeo  and  Paris  lying  breathless  by  the 
monument. 

Before  he  could  entertain  a conjecture,  to 
imagine  how  these  fatal  accidents  had  fallen 
out,  Juliet  awoke  out  of  her  trance,  and  seeing 
the  friar  near  her,  she  remembered  the  place 
where  she  was,  and  the  occasion  of  her  being 
there,  and  asked  for  Romeo : but  the  friar, 
hearing  a noise,  bade  her  come  out  of  that 
place  of  death,  and  of  unnatural  sleep,  for  a 
greater  power  than  they  could  contradict  had 
thwarted  their  intents ; and  being  frighted  by 
the  noise  of  people  coming,  he  fled  ; but  when 
Juliet  saw  the  cup  closed  in  her  true  love’s 
hands,  she  guessed  that  poison  had  been  the 
cause  of  his  end,  and  she  would  have  swallowed 
the  dregs  if  any  had  been  left,  and  she  kissed  his 
still  warm  lips  to  try  if  any  poison  yet  did  hang 
upon  them  : then  hearing  a nearer  naj^e  of 
people  coming,  she  quickly  unsheathed  a dag- 
ger which  she  wore,  and  stabbing  herself,  died 
by  her  true  Romeo’s  side. 

The  watch  by  this  time  had  come  up  to  the 


32 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


place.  A page  belonging  to  count  Paris,  who 
had  witnessed  the  fight  between  his  master  and 
Romeo,  had  given  the  alarm,  which  had  spread 
among  the  citizens,  who  went  up  and  down 
the  streets  of  Verona  confusedly,  exclaiming, 
a Paris,  a Romeo,  a Juliet,  as  the  rumor  had 
imperfectly  reached  them,  till  the  uproar 
brought  lord  Montague  and  lord  Capulet  out 
of  their  beds,  with  the  prince,  to  inquire  into 
the  causes  of  the  disturbance.  The  friar  had 
been  apprehended  by  some  of  the  watch,  com- 
ing from  the  churchyard,  trembling,  sighing, 
and  weeping,  in  a suspicious  manner.  A great 
multitude  being  assembled  at  the  Capulets’ 
monument,  the  friar  was  demanded  by  the 
prince  to  deliver  what  he  knew  of  these  strange 
and  disastrous  accidents. 

And  there,  in  the  presence  of  the  old  lords 
Montague  and  Capulet,  he  faithfully  related 
the  story  of  their  children’s  fatal  love,  the  part 
he  took  in  promoting  their  marriage,  in  the 
hope  in  that  union  to  end  the  long  quarrels 
between  their  families  : how  Romeo,  there  dead, 
was  husband  to  Juliet;  and  Juliet,  there  dead, 
was  Romeo’s  faithful  wife : how  before  he 
could  find  a fit  opportunity  to  divulge  their  mar- 
riage, another  match  was  projected  for  Juliet, 
who  to  avoid  the  crime  of  a second  marriage 
swallowed  the  sleeping  draught  (as  he  advised), 
and  all  thought  her  dead  : how  meantime  he 
wrote  to  Romeo,  to  come  and  take  her  thence 
when  the  force  of  the  potion  should  cease,  and 
by  what  unfortunate  miscarriage  of  the  messen- 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET, 


33 


ger  the  letters  never  reached  Romeo  : further 
than  this  the  friar  could  not  follow  the  story, 
nor  knew  more  than  that,  coming  himself  to  de- 
liver Juliet  from  that  place  of  death,  he  found 
the  count  Paris  and  Romeo  slain.  The  remain- 
der of  the  transactions  was  supplied  by  the  nar- 
ration of  the  page  who  had*  seen  Paris  and 
Romeo  fight,  and  by  the  servant  who  came  with 
Romeo  from  Verona,  to  whom  this  faithful  lover 
had  given  letters  to  be  delivered  to  his  father 
in  the  event  of  his  death,  which  made  good  the 
friar’s  words,  confessing  his  marriage  with  J uliet, 
imploring  the  forgiveness  of  his  parents,  ac- 
knowledging the  buying  of  the  poison  of  the 
poor  apothecary,  and  his  intent  in  coming  to 
the  monument,  to  die,  and  lie  with  Juliet.  All 
these  circumstances  agreed  together  to  clear 
the  friar  from  any  hand  he  could  be  supposed 
to  have  had  in  these  complicated  slaughters, 
further  than  as  the  unintended  consequences 
of  his  own  well-meant,  yet  too  artificial  and 
subtle  contrivances. 

And  the  prince,  turning  to  these  old  lords, 
Montague  and  Capulet,  rebuked  them  for  their 
brutal  and  irrational  enmities,  and  showed 
them  what  a scourge  Heaven  had  laid  upon 
such  offences,  that  it  had  found  means  even 
through  the  love  of  their  children  to  punish 
their  unnatural  hate.  And  these  old  rivals,  no 
longer  enemies,  agreed  to  bury  their  long  strife 
in  their  children’s  graves  ; and  lord  Capulet 
requested  lord  Montague  to  give  him  his  hand, 
calling  him  by  the  name  of  brother,  as  if  in 
3 


34 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


acknowledgment  of  the  union  of  their  families 
by  the  marriage  of  the  young  Capulet  and  Mon- 
tague ; and  saying  that  lord  Montague’s  hand 
(in  token  of  reconcilement)  was  all  he  demand- 
ed for  his  daughter’s  jointure  : but  lord  Mon- 
tague said  he  would  give  him  more,  for  he 
would  raise  her  statue  of  pure  gold,  that  while 
Verona  kept  its  name,  no  figure  should  be  so 
esteemed  for  its  richness  and  workmanship  as 
that  of  the  true  and  faithful  Juliet.  And  lord 
Capulet  in  return  said,  that  he  would  raise 
another  statue  to  Romeo.  So  did  these  poor 
old  lords,  when  it  was  too  late,  strive  to  outdo 
each  other  in  mutual  courtesies  : while  so 
deadly  had  been  their  rage  and  enmity  in  past 
times,  that  nothing  but  the  fearful  overthrow 
of  their  children  (poor  sacrifices  to  their 
quarrels  and  dissensions)  could  remove  the 
rooted  hates  and  jealousies  of  the  noble 
families. 


KING  LEAR. 


Lear,  king  of  Britain,  had  three  daughters  ; 
Goneril,  wife  to  the  duke  of  Albany  ; Regan, 
wife  to  the  duke  of  Cornwall ; and  Cordelia,  a 
young  maid,  for  whose  love  the  king  of  France 
and  duke  of  Burgundy  were  joint  suitors,  and 
were  at  his  time  making  stay  for  that  purpose 
in  the  court  of  Lear. 

The  old  king,  worn  out  with  age  and  the 
fatigues  of  government,  he  being  more  than 
fourscore  years  old,  determined  to  take  no 
further  part  in  state  affairs,  but  to  leave  the 
management  to  younger  strengths,  that  he 
might  have  time  to  prepare  for  death,  which 
must  at  no  long  period  ensue.  With  this 
intent  he  called  his  three  daughters  to  him,  to 
know  from  their  own  lips  which  of  them  loved 
him  best,  that  he  might  part  his  kingdom 
among  them  in  such  proportions  as  their  affec- 
tion for  him  should  seem  to  deserve. 

Goneril,  the  eldest,  declared  that  she  loved 
her  father  more  than  words  could  give  out, 
that  he  was  dearer  to  her  than  the  light  of  her 
own  eyes,  dearer  than  life  and  liberty,  with  a 
deal  of  such  professing  stuff,  which  is  easy  to 
counterfeit  where  there  is  no  real  love,  only  a 
few  fine  words  delivered  with  confidence  being 

35 


36  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


wanted  in  that  case.  The  king,  delighted  to 
hear  from  her  own  mouth  this  assurance  of  her 
love,  and  thinking  that  truly  her  heart  went 
with  it,  in  a fit  of  fatherly  fondness  bestowed 
upon  her  and  her  husband  one-third  of  his 
ample  kingdom. 

Then  calling  to  him  his  second  daughter,  he 
demanded  what  she  had  to  say.  Regan,  who 
was  made  of  the  same  hollow  metal  as  her 
sister,  was  not  a whit  behind  in  her  professions, 
but  rather  declared  that  what  her  sister  had 
spoken  came  short  of  the  love  which  she  pro- 
fessed to  bear  for  his  highness  : insomuch  that 
she  found  all  other  joys  dead,  in  comparison 
with  the  pleasure  which  she  took  in  the  love 
of  her  dear  king  and  father. 

Lear  blessed  himself  in  having  such  loving 
children,  as  he  thought  : and  could  do  no  less, 
after  the  handsome  assurances  which  Regan 
had  made,  than  bestow  a third  of  his  kingdom 
upon  her  and  her  husband,  equal  in  size  to 
that  which  he  had  already  given  away  to 
Goneril. 

Then  turning  to  his  youngest  daughter  Cor- 
delia, whom  he  called  his  joy,  he  asked  what 
she  had  to  say ; thinking,  no  doubt,  that  she 
would  glad  his  ears  with  the  same  loving 
speeches  which  her  sisters  had  uttered,  or 
rather  that  her  expressions  would  be  so  much 
stronger  than  theirs,  as  she  had  always  been 
his  darling,  and  favored  by  him  above  either 
of  them.  But  Cordelia,  disgusted  with  the 
flattery  of  her  sisters,  whose  hearts  she  knew 


KING  LEAR . 


37 


were  far  from  their  lips,  and  seeing  that  all 
their  coaxing  speeches  were  only  intended  to 
wheedle  the  old  king  out  of  his  dominions, 
that  they  and  their  husbands  might  reign  in 
his  lifetime,  made  no  other  reply  but  this,  that 
she  loved  his  majesty  according  to  her  duty, 
neither  more  nor  less. 

The  king,  shocked  with  this  appearance  of 
ingratitude  in  his  favorite  child,  desired  her 
to  consider  her  words,  and  to  mend  her  speech, 
lest  it  should  mar  her  fortunes. 

Cordelia  then  told  her  father,  that  he  was 
her  father,  that  he  had  given  her  breeding,  and 
loved  her,  that  she  returned  those  duties  back 
as  was  most  fit,  and  did  obey  him,  love  him, 
and  most  honor  him.  But  that  she  could 
not  frame  her  mouth  to  such  large  speeches  as 
her  sisters  had  done,  or  promise  to  love  nothing 
else  in  the  world.  Why  had  her  sisters,  hus- 
bands, if  (as  they  said)  they  had  no  love  for 
anything  but  their  father  ? If  she  should  ever 
wed,  she  was  sure  the  lord  to  whom  she  gave 
her  hand  would  want  half  her  love,  half  of  her 
care  and  duty  ; she  should  never  marry  like 
her  sisters,  to  love  her  father  all. 

Cordelia,  who  in  earnest  loved  her  old  father 
even  almost  as  extravagantly  as  her  sisters 
pretended  to  do,  would  have  plainly  told  him 
so  at  any  other  time,  in  more  daughter-like  and 
loving  terms,  and  without  these  qualifications, 
which  did  indeed  sound  a little  ungracious  : 
but  after  the  crafty  flattering  speeches  of  her 
sisters,  which  she  had  seen  draw  such  extrav- 


38  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


agant  rewards,  she  thought  the  handsomest 
thing  she  could  do  was  to  love  and  be  silent. 
This  put  her  affection  out  of  suspicion  of 
mercenary  ends,  and  showed  that  she  loved, 
but  not  for  gain  ; and  that  her  professions,  the 
less  ostentatious  they  were,  had  so  much  the 
more  of  truth  and  sincerity  than  her  sisters’. 

This  plainness  of  speech,  which  Lear  called 
pride,  so  enraged  the  old  monarch — who  in  his 
best  of  times  always  showed  much  of  spleen 
and  rashness,  and  in  whom  the  dotage  incident 
to  old  age  had  so  clouded  over  his  reason  that 
he  could  not  discern  truth  from  flattery,  nor  a 
gay  painted  speech  from  words  that  came  from 
the  heart — that  in  a fury  of  resentment 
he  retracted  the  third  part  of  his  kingdom 
which  yet  remained,  and  which  he  had 
reserved  for  Cordelia,  and  gave  it  away 
from  her,  sharing  it  equally  between  her  two 
sisters  and  their  husbands,  the  dukes  of  Albany 
and  Cornwall  : whom  he  now  called  to  him, 
and  in  presence  of  all  his  courtiers,  bestowing 
a coronet  between  them,  invested  them  jointly 
with  all  the  power,  revenue,  and  execution  of 
government,  only  retaining  to  himself  the  name 
of  king  ; all  the  rest  of  royalty  he  resigned: 
with  this  reservation,  that  himself,  with  a 
hundred  knights  for  his  attendants,  was  to  be 
maintained  by  monthly  course  in  each  of  his 
daughters’  palaces  in  turn. 

So  preposterous  a disposal  of  his  kingdom, 
so  little  guided  by  reason,  and  so  much  by 
passion,  filled  all  his  courtiers  with  astonish- 


KING  LEAR . 


39 


ment  and  sorrow  ; but  none  of  them  had  the 
courage  to  interpose  between  this  incensed 
king  and  his  wrath,  except  the  earl  of  Kent, 
who  was  beginning  to  speak  a good  word  for 
Cordelia,  when  the  passionate  Lear  on  pain  of 
death  commanded  him  to  desist ; but  the  good 
Kent  was  not  so  to  be  repelled.  He  had  been 
ever  loyal  to  Lear,  whom  he  had  honored  as  a 
king,  loved  as  a father,  followed  as  a master  : 
and  had  never  esteemed  his  life  further  than 
as  a pawn  to  wage  against  his  royal  master’s 
enemies,  nor  feared  to  lose  it  -when  Lear’s 
safety  was  the  motive  : nor  now  that  Lear  was 
most  his  own  enemy,  did  this  faithful  servant 
of  the  king  forget  his  old  principles,  but  man- 
fully opposed  Lear,  to  do  Lear  good  ; and  was 
unmannerly  only  because  Lear  was  mad.  He 
had  been  a most  faithful  counselor,  in  times 
past,  to  the  king,  and  he  besought  him  now, 
that  he  would  see  with  his  eyes  (as  he  had 
done  in  many  weighty  matters),  and  go  by  his 
advice  still ; and  in  his  best  consideration  re- 
call this  hideous  rashness  : for  he  would 

answer  with  his  life,  his  judgment  that  Lear’s 
youngest  daughter  did  not  love  him  least,  nor 
were  those  empty-hearted  whose  low  sound 
gave  no  token  of  hollowness.  When  power 
bowed  to  flattery,  honor  was  bound  to  plain- 
ness. For  Lear’s  threats,  what  could  he  do  to 
him,  whose  life  was  already  at  his  service  ? 
That  should  not  hinder  duty  from  speaking. 

The  honest  freedom  of  this  good  earl  of 
Kent  only  stirred  up  the  king’s  wrath  the 


40  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 

more,  and  like  a frantic  patient  who  kills  his 
physician,  and  loves  his  mortal  disease,  he 
banished  this  true  servant,  and  allotted  him 
but  five  days  to  make  his  preparations  for 
departure,  but  if  on  the  sixth  his  hated  person 
was  found  within  the  realm  of  Britain,  that 
moment  was  to  be  his  death.  And  Kent  bade 
farewell  to  the  king,  and  said,  that  since  he 
chose  to  show  himself  in  such  fashion,  it  was 
but  banishment  to  stay  there  ; and  before  he 
went,  he  recommended  Cordelia  to  the  protec- 
tion of  the  gods,  the  maid  who  had  so  rightly 
thought,  and  so  discreetly  spoken  ; and  only 
wished  that  her  sisters’  large  speeches  might 
be  answered  with  deeds  of  love  : and  then  he 
went,  as  he  said,  to  shape  his  old  course  to  a 
new  country. 

The  king  of  France  and  duke  of  Burgundy 
were  now  called  in  to  hear  the  determination  of 
Lear  about  his  youngest  daughter,  and  to  know 
whether  they  would  persist  in  their  courtship 
to  Cordelia,  now  that  she  was  under  her 
father’s  displeasure,  and  had  no  fortune  but 
her  own  person  to  recommend  her  ; and  the 
duke  of  Burgundy  declined  the  match,  and 
would  not  take  her  to  wife  upon  such  con- 
ditions : but  the  king  of  France,  understanding 
what  the  nature  of  the  fault  had  been  which 
had  lost  her  the  love  of  her  father,  that  it  was 
only  a tardiness  of  speech,  and  the  not  being 
able  to  frame  her  tongue  to  flattery  like  her 
sisters,  took  this  young  maid  by  the  hand,  and 
saying  that  her  virtues  were  a dowry  above  a 


KING  LEAR. 


4i 


kingdom,  bade  Cordelia  to  take  farewell  of 
her  sisters,  and  of  her  father,  though  he  had 
been  unkind,  and  she  should  go  with  him,  and 
be  queen  of  him  and  of  fair  France,  and  reign 
over  fairer  possessions  than  her  sisters  : and 
he  called  the  duke  of  Burgundy  in  contempt 
a waterish  duke,  because  his  love  for  this 
young  maid  had  in  a moment  run  all  away  like 
water. 

Then  Cordelia  with  weeping  eyes  took  leave 
of  her  sisters,  and  besought  them  to  love  their 
father  well,  and  make  good  their  professions  ; 
and  they  sullenly  told  her  not  to  prescribe  to 
them,  for  they  knew  their  duty  ; but  to  strive 
to  content  her  husband,  who  had  taken  her  (as 
they  tauntingly  expressed  it)  as  Fortune's 
alms.  And  Cordelia  with  a heavy  heart  de- 
parted, for  she  knew  the  cunning  of  her  sisters,, 
and  she  wished  her  father  in  better  hands  than 
she  was  about  to  leave  him  in. 

Cordelia  was  no  sooner  gone,  than  the  devil- 
ish dispositions  of  her  sisters  began  to  show 
themselves  in  their  true  colors.  Even  before 
the  expiration  of  the  first  month,  which  Lear 
was  to  spend  by  agreement  with  his  eldest 
daughter  Goneril,  the  old  king  began  to  find 
out  the  difference  between  promises  and  per- 
formances. This  wretch  having  got  from  her 
father  all  that  he  had  to  bestow,  even  to  the 
giving  away  of  the  crown  from  off  his  heady 
began  to  grudge  even  those  small  remnants  of 
royalty  which  the  old  man  had  reserved  to 
himself,  to  please  his  fancy  with  the  idea  of 


42  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 

being  still  a king.  She  could  not  bear  to  see 
him  and  his  hundred  knights.  Every  time  she 
met  her  father  she  put  on  a frowning  coun- 
tenance ; and  when  the  old  man  wanted  to 
speak  with  her,  she  would  feign  sickness,  or 
anything,  to  be  rid  of  the  sight  of  him  ; for  it 
was  plain  that  she  esteemed  his  old  age  a 
useless  burden,  and  his  attendants  as  un- 
necessary expense  : not  only  she  herself  slack- 
ened in  her  expressions  of  duty  to  the  king, 
but  by  her  example,  and  (it  is  to  be  feared) 
not  without  her  private  instructions,  her  very 
servants  affected  to  treat  him  with  neglect, 
and  would  either  refuse  to  obey  his  orders,  or 
still  more  contemptuously  pretend  not  to  hear 
them.  Lear  could  not  but  perceive  this  altera- 
tion in  the  behavior  of  his  daughter,  but  he 
shut  his  eyes  against  it  as  long  as  he  could,  as 
people  commonly  are  unwilling  to  believe  the 
unpleasant  consequences  which  their  own 
mistakes  and  obstinacy  have  brought  upon 
them. 

True  love  and  .fidelity  are  no  more  to  be 
-estranged  by  ///,  than  falsehood  and  hollow- 
heartedness can  be  conciliated  by  good  usage. 
This  eminently  appears  in  the  instance  of  the 
good  earl  of  Kent,  who,  though  banished  by 
Lear,  and  his  life  made  forfeit  if  he  were 
found  in  Britain,  chose  to  stay,  and  abide  all 
consequences,  as  long  as  there  was  a chance 
of  his  being  useful  to  the  king  his  master.  See 
to  what  mean  shifts  and  disguises  poor  loyalty 
is  forced  to  submit  sometimes  ; yet  it  counts 


KING  LEAR . 


43 


nothing  base  or  unworthy,  so  as  it  can  but  do 
service  where  it  owes  an  obligation  ! In  the 
disguise  of  a serving-man,  all  his  greatness 
and  pomp  laid  aside,  this  good  earl  proffered 
his  services  to  the  king,  who,  not  knowing 
him  to  be  Kent  in  that  disguise,  but  pleased 
with  a certain  plainness,  or  rather  bluntness  in 
his  answers,  which  the  earl  put  on  (so  different 
from  that  smooth  oily  flattery  which  he  had  so 
much  reason  to  be  sick  of,  having  found  the 
effects  not  answerable  in  his  daughter),  a 
bargain  was  quickly  struck,  and  Lear  took 
Kent  into  his  service  by  the  name  of  Caius,  as 
he  called  himself,  never  suspecting  him  to  be 
his  once  great  favorite,  the  high  and  mighty 
earl  of  Kent. 

This  Caius  quickly  found  means  to  show 
his  fidelity  and  love  to  his  royal  master ; for 
Goneril’s  steward  that  same  day  behaving  in 
a disrespectful  manner  to  Lear,  and  giving 
him  saucy  looks  and  language,  as  no  doubt  he 
was  secretly  encouraged  to  do  by  his  mistress, 
Caius  not  enduring  to  hear  so  open  an  affront 
put  upon  majesty,  made  no  more  ado  but  pres- 
ently tripped  up  his  heels,  and  laid  the  un- 
mannerly slave  in  the  kennel ; for  which 
friendly  service  Lear  became  more  and  more 
attached  to  him. 

Nor  was  Kent  the  only  friend  Lear  had. 
In  his  degree,  and  as  far  as  so  insignificant  a 
personage  could  show  his  love,  the  poor  fool, 
or  jester,  that  had  been  of  his  palace  while  Lear 
had  a palace,  as  it  was  the  custom  of  kings  and 


44 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


great  personages  at  that  time  to  keep  a fool  (as 
he  was  called)  to  make  them  sport  after  serious 
business  : this  poor  fool  clung  to  Lear  after  he 
had  given  away  his  crown,  and  by  his  witty 
sayings  would  keep  up  his  good  humor,  though 
he  could  not  refrain  sometimes  from  jeering 
at  his  master,  for  his  imprudence  in  uncrown- 
ing himself,  and  giving  all  away  to  his  daugh- 
ters : at  which  time,  as  he  rhymingly  expressed 
it.  these  daughters 

For  sudden  joy  did  weep, 

And  he  for  sorrow  sung, 

That  such  a king  should  play  bo-peep, 

And  go  the  fools  among. 

And  in  such  wild  sayings,  and  scraps  of  songs, 
of  which  he  had  plenty,  this  pleasant  honest 
fool  poured  out  his  heart  even  in  the  presence 
of  Goneril  herself,  in  many  a bitter  taunt  and 
jest  which  cut  to  the  quick : such  as  compar- 
ing the  king  to  the  hedge-sparrow,  who  feeds 
the  young  of  the  cuckoo  till  they  grow  old 
enough,  and  then  has  its  head  bit  off  for  its 
pains  : and  saying,  that  an  ass  may  know  when 
the  cart  draws  the  horse  (meaning  that  Lear’s 
daughters,  that  ought  to  go  behind,  now  ranked 
before  their  father)  ; and  that  Lear  was  no 
longer  Lear,  but  the  shadow  of  Lear : for 
which  free  speeches  he  was  once  or  twice 
threatened  to  be  whipped. 

The  coolness  and  falling  off  of  respect  which 
Lear  had  begun  to  perceive  were  not  all 
which  this  foolish  fond  fatlvr  was  to  suffer 
from  his  unworthy  daughter  she  now  plainly 


KING  LEAR. 


45 


told  him  that  his  staying  in  her  palace  was  in- 
convenient so  long  as  he  insisted  upon  keeping 
up  an  establishment  of  a hundred  knights ; 
that  this  establishment  was  useless  and  ex* 
pensive,  and  only  served  to  fill  her  court  with 
riot  and  feastings  ; and  she  prayed  him  that 
he  would  lessen  their  number,  and  keep  none 
but  old  men  about  him,  such  as  himself,  and 
fitting  his  age. 

Lear  at  first  could  not  believe  his  eyes  or 
ears,  nor  that  it  was  his  daughter  who  spoke 
so  unkindly.  He  could  not  believe  that  she 
who  had  received  a crown  from  him  could 
seek  to  cut  off  his  train,  and  grudge  him  the 
respect  due  to  his  old  age.  But  she  persisting 
in  her  undutiful  demand,  the  old  man’s  rage 
was  so  excited,  that  he  called  her  a detested 
kite,  and  said  that  she  had  spoke  an  untruth  : 
and  so  indeed  she  did,  for  the  hundred  knights 
were  all  men  of  choice  behavior  and  sobriety 
of  manners,  skilled  in  all  particulars  of  duty, 
and  not  given  to  rioting  c*.nd  fea  ting  as  she 
said.  And  he  bid  his  horses  to  be  prepared, 
for  he  would  go  to  his  other  daughter,  Regan, 
he  and  his  hundred  knights  : and  he  spoke  of 
ingratitude,  and  said  it  was  a marble-hearted 
devil,  and  showed  more  hideous  in  a chi’d 
than  the  sea-monster.  And  he  cursed  his 
eldest  daughter  Goneril  so  as  was  terrible  to 
hear : praying  that  she  might  never  have  a 
child,  or  if  she  had,  that  it  might  live  to  return 
that  scorn  and  contempt  upon  her  which  she 
had  shown  to  him  : that  she  might  feel  how 


46  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


sharper  than  a serpent’s  tooth  it  was  to  have 
a thankless  child.  And  Goneril’s  husband, 
the  duke  of  Albany,  beginning  to  excuse  him- 
self for  any  share  which  Lear  might  suppose 
he  had  in  the  unkindness,  Lear  would  not  hear 
him  out,  but  in  a rage  ordered  his  horses  to  be 
saddled,  and  set  out  with  his  followers  for  the 
abode  of  Regan,  his  other  daughter.  And 
Lear  thought  to  himself  how  small  the  fault 
of  Cordelia  (if  it  was  a fault)  now  appeared, 
in  comparison  with  her  sister’s,  and  he  wept ; 
and  then  he  was  ashamed  that  such  a creat- 
ure as  Goneril  should  have  so  much  power 
over  his  manhood  as  to  make  him  weep. 

Regan  and  her  husband  were  keeping  their 
court  in  great  pomp  and  state  at  their  palace : 
and  Lear  despatched  his  servant  Caius  with 
letters  to  his  daughter,  that  she  might  be  pre- 
pared for  his  reception,  while  he  and  his  train 
followed  after.  But  it  seems  that  Goneril  had 
been  beforehand  with  him,  sending  letters 
also  to  Regan,  accusing  her  father  of  way- 
wardness and  ill  humors,  and  advising  her  not 
to  receive  so  great  a train  as  he  was  bringing 
with  him.  This  messenger  arrived  at  the  same 
time  with  Caiu^,  and  Caius  and  he  met : and 
who  should  it  be  but  Caius’s  old  enr  my  the 
steward,  whom  he  had  formerly  tripped  up  by 
the  heels  for  his  saucy  behavior  to  Lear. 
Caius  not  liking  he  fellow’s  look,  and  suspect- 
ing what  he  came  for,  began  to  revile  him,  and 
challenged  him  to  fight,  which  the  fellow  re- 
fusing, Caius,  in  a fit  of  honest  passion,  beat 


KING  LEAK 


47 


him  soundly,  as  such  a mischief-maker  and 
carrier  of  wicked  messages  deserved : which 
coming  to  the  ears  of  Regan  and  her  husband, 
they  ordered  Caius  to  be  put  in  the  stocks, 
though  he  was  a messenger  from  the  king  her 
father,  and  in  that  character  demanded  the 
highest  respeet : so  that  the  fir  A thing  the 
king  saw  when  he  entered  the  castle  was  his 
faithful  servant  Caius  sitting  in  that  disgrace- 
ful situation. 

This  was  but  a bad  omen  of  the  reception 
which  he  was  to  expect ; but  a worse  followed, 
when,  upon  inquiry  for  his  daughter  and  her 
husband,  he  was  told  they  were  weary  with 
traveling  all  night,  and  could  not  see  him  : 
and  when  lastly,  upon  his  insisting  in  a posi- 
tive and  angry  manner  to  see  them,  they  came 
to  greet  him,  whom  should  he  see  in  their 
company  but  the  hated  Goneril,  who  had  come 
+ o tell  her  own  story,  and  set  her  sister  against 
vhe  king  her  father  ! 

This  sight  much  moved  the  old  man,  and  still 
more  to  see  Regan  take  her  by  the  hand  : and 
he  asked  Goneril  if  she  was  not  ashamed  to 
look  upon  his  old  white  beard.  And  Regan 
advised  him  to  go  home  again  with  Goneril 
and  live  with  her  peaceably,  dismissing  half 
of  his  attendants,  and  to  ask  her  forgiveness  ; 
for  he  was  old  and  wanted  discretion,  and 
must  be  ruled  and  led  by  persons  that  had 
more  discretion  than  himself.  And  Lear 
showed  how  preposterous  that  would  sound, 
if  he  were  to  down  on  his  knees,  and  beg  of 


48  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 

his  own  daughter  for  food  and  raiment,  and 
he  argued  against  such  an  unnatural  depend- 
ence, declaring  his  resolution  never  to  return 
with  her,  but  to  stay  where  he  was  with  Regan, 
he  and  his  hundred  knights  : for  he  said  that 
she  had  not  forgot  the  half  of  the  kingdom 
which  he  had  endowed  her  with,  and  that  her 
eyes  were  not  fierce  like  Goneril’s,  but  mild 
and  kind.  And  he  said  that  rather  than  return 
to  Goneril  with  half  his  train  cut  off,  he  would 
go  over  to  France,  and  get  a wretched  pension 
of  the  king  there,  who  had  married  his  young- 
est daughter  without  a portion. 

But  he  was  mistaken  in  expecting  kinder 
treatment  of  Regan  than  he  had  experienced 
from  her  sister  Goneril.  As  if  willing  to  out- 
do her  sister  in  unfilial  behavior,  she  declared 
that  she  thought  fifty  knights  too  many  to  wait 
upon  him  : that  five-and-twenty  were  enough. 
Then  Lear,  nigh  heartbroken,  turned  to 
Goneril,  and  said  that  he  would  go  back  with 
her,  for  her  fifty  doubled  five-and-twenty,  and 
so  her  love  was  twice  as  much  as  Regan’s. 
But  Goneril  excused  herself,  and  said,  what 
need  of  so  many  as  five-and-twenty  ? or  even 
ten  ? or  five  ? when  he  might  be  waited  upon 
by  her  servants,  or  her  sister’s  servants  ? So 
these  two  wicked  daughters,  as  if  they  strove 
to  exceed  each  other  in  cruelty  to  their  old 
father  who  had  been  so  good  to  them,  by  little 
and  little  would  have  abated  him  of  all  his 
train,  all  respect  (little  enough  for  him  that 
once  commanded  a kingdom)  which  was  left 


KING  LEAR . 


49 


him  to  show  that  he  had  once  been  a king  ! 
Not  that  a splendid  train  is  essential  to  happi- 
ness, but  from  a king  to  a beggar  is  a hard 
change,  from  commanding  millions  to  be  with- 
out one  attendant ; and  it  was  the  ingratitude  in 
his  daughters  denying  it,  more  than  what  he 
would  suffer  by  the  want  of  it,  which  pierced 
this  poor  old  king  to  the  heart : insomuch,  that 
with  this  double  ill  usage,  and  vexation  for 
having  so  foolishly  given  away  a kingdom,  his 
wits  began  to  be  unsettled,  and  while  he  said 
he  knew  not  what,  he  vowed  revenge  against 
those  unnatural  hags,  and  to  make  examples 
of  them  that  should  be  a terror  to  the  earth  ! 

While  he  was  thus  idly  threatening  what 
his  weak  arm  could  never  execute,  night  came 
on,  and  a loud  storm  of  thunder  and  lightning 
with  rain  ; and  his  daughters  still  persisting  in 
their  resolution  not  to  admit  his  followers,  he 
called  for  his  horses,  and  chose  rather  to 
encounter  the  utmost  fury  of  the  storm  abroad, 
than  stay  under  the  same  roof  with  these  un- 
grateful daughters  : and  they,  saying  that  the 
injuries  which  willful  men  procur  to  themselves 
are  their  just  punishment,  suffered  him  to  go 
in  that  condition,  and  shut  their  doors  upon 
him. 

The  winds  were  high,  and  the  rain  and  storm 
increased,  when  the  old  man  sallied  forth  to 
combat  with  the  elements,  less  sharp  than  his 
daughters’  unkindness.  For  many  miles  about 
there  was  scarce  a bush  ; and  there  upon  a 
heath,  exposed  to  the  fury  of  the  storm  in  a 
4 


5° 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


dark  night,  did  King  Lear  wander  out,  and 
defy  the  winds  and  the  thunder : and  he  bid 
the  winds  to  blow  the  earth  int^  the  sea,  or 
swell  the  waves  of  the  sea,  till  they  Irowned 
the  earth,  that  no  token  mig!  t r main  of  any 
such  ungrateful  animal  as  man.  The  Id  king 
was  now  left  with  no  other  companion  than 
the  poor  fool,  who  still  abided  with  him,  with 
his  merry  conceits  striving  to  outjest  misfortune 
saying  it  was  but  a naughty  night  to  swim  in, 
and  truly  the  king  had  better  go  in  and  ask  his 
daughter’s  blessing : 

But  be  that  has  a little  tiny  wit, 

With  heigh  ho,  the  wind  and  the  rain  ! 

Must  make  content  with  his  fortunes  fit, 

Though  the  rain  it  raineth  every  day  : 

and  swearing  it  was  a brave  night  to  cool  a 
lady’s  pride. 

Thus  poorly  accompanied,  this  once  great 
monarch  was  found  by  his  ever-faithful  servant 
the  good  earl  of  Kent,  now  transformed  to 
Caius,  who  ever  followed  close  at  his  side, 
though  the  king  did  not  know  him  to  be  the 
earl ; and  he  said,  “ Alas  ! sir,  are  you  here  ? 
creatures  that  love  night,  love  not  such  nights 
as  these.  This  dreadful  storm  has  driven  the 
beasts  to  their  hiding-places.  Man’s  nature 
cannot  endure  the  affliction  or  the  fear.”  Ani 
Lear  rebuked  him  and  said,  these  lesser  evils 
were  not  felt,  where  a greater  malady  was  fixed. 
When  the  mind  is  at  ease,  the  body  has  leisure 
to  be  delicate  ; but  the  tempest  in  his  mind 
did  take  all  feeling  else  from  his  senses,  but  of 


KING  LEAR . 


5* 


that  which  beat  at  his  heart.  And  he  spoke 
of  filial  ingrati'  ude,  and  said  it  was  all  one  as 
if  the  mouth  should  tear  the  hand  for  lifting 
food  to  it  • for  parents  were  hands  and  food 
and  everything  to  children. 

But  the  good  Caius  still  persisting  in  his 
entreaties  that  the  king  would  not  stay  out  in 
the  open  air,  at  last  persuaded  him  to  enter  a 
little  wretched  hovel  which  stood  upon  the 
heath,  where  the  fool  first  entering,  suddenly 
ran  back  terrified,  saying  that  he  had  seen  a 
spirit.  But  upon  examination  this  spirit 
proved  to  be  nothing  more  than  a poor  Bedlam 
beggar,  who  had  crept  into  this  deserted  hovel 
for  shelter,  and  with  his  talk  about  devils  fright- 
ed the  fool,  one  of  those  poor  lunatics  who 
are  either  mad,  or  feign  to  be  so,  the  better  to 
extort  charity  from  the  compassionate  country- 
people,  who  go  about  the  country,  calling 
themselves  poor  Tom  and  poor  Turlygood,  say- 
ing, “ Who  gives  anything  to  poor  Tom  ? ” stick- 
ing pins  and  nails  and  sprigs  of  rosemary  into 
their  arms  to  make  them  bleed  ; and  with  such 
horrible  actions,  partly  by  prayers,  and  partly 
with  lunatic  curses,  they  move  or  terrify  the 
ignorant  country-folks  into  giving  them  alms. 
This  poor  fellow  was  such  a one  ; and  the  king 
seeing  him  in  so  wretched  a plight,  with  noth- 
ing but  a blanket  about  his  loins  to  cover  his 
nakedness,  could  not  be  persuaded  but  that 
the  fellow  was  some  father  who  had  given  all 
away  to  his  daughters,  and  brought  himself  to 
that  pass ; for  nothing  he  thought  could  bring 


52 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


a man  to  such  wretchedness  but  the  having 
unkind  daughters. 

And  from  this  and  many  such  wild  speeches 
which  he  uttered,  the  good  Caius  plainly  per- 
ceived that  he  was  not  in  his  perfect  mind,  but 
that  his  daughters’  ill-usage  had  really  made 
him  go  mad.  And  now  the  loyalty  of  this 
worthy  earl  of  Kent  showed  itself  in  more  essen- 
tial services  than  he  had  hitherto  found  oppor- 
tunity to  perform.  For  with  the  assistance  of 
some  of  the  king’s  attendants  who  remained 
loyal,  he  had  the  person  of  his  royal  master 
removed  at  daybreak  to  the  castle  of  Dover, 
where  his  own  friends  and  influence,  as  earl  of 
Kent,  chiefly  lay : and  himself  embarking  for 
France,  hastened  to  the  court  of  Cordelia,  and 
did  there  in  such  moving  terms  represent  the 
pitiful  condition  of  her  royal  father,  and  set 
out  in  such  lively  colors  the  inhumanity  of 
her  sisters,  that  this  good  and  loving  child  with 
many  tears  besought  the  king  her  husband, 
that  he  would  give  her  leave  to  embark  for 
England  with  a sufficient  power  to  subdue  these 
daughters  and  their  husbands,  and  restore  the 
king  her  father  to  his  throne  : which  being 
granted,  she  set  forth,  and  with  a royal  army 
landed  at  Dover. 

Lear,  having  by  some  chance  escaped  from 
the  guardians  which  the  good  earl  of  Kent  had 
put  over  him  to  take  care  of  him  in  his  lunacy, 
was  found  by  some  of  Cordelia’s  train,  wander- 
ing about  the  fields  near  Dover,  in  a pitiable 
condition,  stark  mad  and  singing  aloud  to  him- 


KING  LEAR . 


S3 


self,  with  a crown  upon  his  head  which  he 
had  made  of  straw,  and  nettles,  and  other  wild 
weeds  that  he  had  picked  up  in  the  corn-fields. 
By  the  advice  of  the  physicians,  Cordelia, 
though  earnestly  desirous  of  seeing  her  father, 
was  prevailed  upon  to  put  off  the  meeting,  till, 
by  sleep  and  the  operation  of  herbs  which  they 
gave  him,  he  should  be  restored  to  greater 
composure.  By  the  aid  of  these  skilful  phy- 
sicians, to  whom  Cordelia  promised  all  her 
gold  and  jewels  for  the  recovery  of  the  old 
king,  Lear  was  soon  in  a condition  to  see  his 
daughter. 

A tender  sight  it  was  to  see  the  meeting 
between  this  father  and  daughter : to  see  the 
struggles  between  the  joy  of  this  poor  old  king 
at  beholding  again  his  once  darling  child,  and 
the  shame  at  receiving  such  filial  kindness 
from  her  whom  he  had  cast  off  for  so  small  a 
fault  in  his  displeasure  ; both  these  passions 
struggling  with  the  remains  of  his  malady, 
which  in  his  half-crazed  brain  sometimes  made 
him  that  he  scarce  remembered  where  he  was, 
or  who  it  was  that  so  kindly  kissed  him-  and 
spoke  to  him  : and  then  he  would  beg  the 
standers-by  not  to  laugh  at  him,  if  he  were 
mistaken  in  thinking  this  lady  to  be  his 
daughter  Cordelia  ! And  then  to  see  him  fall 
on  his  knees  to  beg  pardon  of  his  child ; and 
she,  good  lady,  kneeling  all  the  while  to  ask  a 
blessing  of  him,  and  telling  him  that  it  did  not 
become  him  to  kneel,  but  it  was  her  duty,  for 
she  was  his  child,  his  true  and  very  child, 


54  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 

Cordelia  ! And  she  kissed  him  (as  she  said) 
to  kiss  away  all  her  sisters’  unkindness,  and 
said  that  they  might  be  ashamed  of  themselves, 
to  turn  their  old  kind  father  with  his  white 
beard  out  into  the  cold  air,  when  her  enemy’s 
dog,  though  it  had  bit  her  (as  she  prettily 
expressed  it),  should  have  stayed  by  her  fire 
such  a night  as  that,  and  warmed  himself. 
And  she  told  her  father  how  she  had  come 
from  France  with  purpose  to  bring  him  assist- 
ance ; and  he  said,  that  she  must  forget  and 
forgive,  for  he  was  old  and  foolish,  and  did  not 
know  what  he  did ; but  that  to  be  sure  she 
had  great  cause  not  to  love  him,  but  her  sisters 
had  none.  And  Cordelia  said,  that  she  had 
no  cause,  no  more  than  they  had. 

So  we  will  leave  this  old  king  in  the  protec- 
tion of  this  dutiful  and  loving  child,  where,  by 
the  help  of  sleep  and  medicine,  she  and  her 
physicians  at  length  succeeded  in  winding  up 
the  untuned  and  jarring  senses  which  the 
cruelty  of  his  other  daughters  had  so  violently 
shaken.  Let  us  return  to  say  a word  or  two 
about  those  cruel  daughters. 

These  monsters  of  ingratitude,  who  had 
been  so  false  to  their  own  father,  could  not  be 
expected  to  prove  more  faithful  to  their  own 
husbands.  They  soon  grew  tired  of  paying 
even  the  appearance  of  duty  and  affection,  and 
in  an  open  way  showed  they  had  fixed  their 
loves  upon  another.  It  happened  that  the 
object  of  their  guilty  loves  was  the  same.  It 
was  Edmund,  a natural  son  of  the  late  earl  of 


KING  LEAR . 


55 


Gloucester,  who  by  his  treacheries  had  suc- 
ceeded in  disinheriting  his  brother  Edgar,  the 
lawful  heir,  from  his  earldom,  and  by  his 
wicked  practices  was  now  earl  himself : a 
wicked  man,  and  a fit  object  for  the  love  of 
such  wicked  creatures  as  Goneril  and  Regan. 
It  falling  out  about  this  time  that  the  duke  of 
Cornwall,  Regan’s  husband,  died,  Regan  im- 
mediately declared  her  intention  of  wedding 
this  earl  of  Gloucester,  which  rousing  the 
jealousy  of  her  sister,  to  whom  as  well  as  to 
Regan  this  wicked  earl  had  at  sundry  times 
professed  love,  Goneril  found  means  to  make 
away  with  her  sister  by  poison  : but  being 
detected  in  her  practices,  and  imprisoned  by 
her  husband  the  duke  of  Albany  for  this  deed, 
and  for  her  guilty  passion  for  the  earl  which 
had  come  to  his  ears,  she  in  a fit  of  disap- 
pointed love  and  rage,  shortly  put  an  end  to 
her  own  life.  Thus  the  justice  of  Heaven  at 
last  overtook  these  wicked  daughters. 

While  the  eyes  of  all  men  were  upon  this 
event,  admiring  the  justice  displayed  in  their 
deserved  deaths,  the  same  eyes  were  suddenly 
taken  off  from  this  sight  to  admire  at  the 
mysterious  ways  of  the  same  power  in  the 
melancholy  fate  of  the  young  and  virtuous 
daughter,  the  lady  Cordelia,  whose  good  deeds 
did  seem  to  deserve  a more  fortunate  conclu- 
sion ; but  it  is  an  awful  truth,  that  innocence 
and  piety  are  not  always  successful  in  this 
world.  The  forces  which  Goneril  and  Regan 
had  sent  out  under  the  command  of  the  bad 


56  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


earl  of  Gloucester  were  victorious,  and  Cor- 
delia, by  the  practices  of  this  wicked  earl,  who 
did  not  like  that  any  should  stand  between 
him  and  the  throne,  ended  her  life  in  prison. 
Thus  Heaven  took  this  innocent  lady  to  itself 
in  her  young  years,  after  showing  her  to  the 
world  an  illustrious  example  of  filial  duty. 
Lear  did  not  long  survive  this  kind  child. 

Before  he  died,  the  good  earl  of  Kent,  who 
had  still  attended  his  old  master’s  steps  from 
the  first  of  his  daughters’  ill  usage  to  this  sad 
period  of  his  decay,  tried  to  make  him  under- 
stand that  it  was  he  who  had  followed  him 
under  the  name  of  Caius  ; but  Lear’s  care- 
crazed  brain  at  that  time  could  not  compre- 
hend how  that  could  be,  or  how  Kent  and 
Caius  could  be  the  same  person  : so  Kent 
thought  it  needless  to  trouble  him  with  ex- 
planations at  such  a time  ; and  Lear  soon 
after  expiring,  this  faithful  servant  to  the  king, 
between  age  an  grief  for  his  old  master’s 
vexations,  soon  followed  him  to  the  grave. 

How  the  judgment  of  heaven  overtook  the 
bad  earl  of  Gloucester,  whose  treasons  were 
discovered,  and  himself  slain  in  single  combat 
with  his  brother  the  lawfiul  earl  ; and  how 
Goneril’s  husband,  the  duke  of  Albany,  who 
was  innocent  of  the  death  of  Cordelia,  and  had 
never  encouraged  his  lady  in  her  wicked  pro- 
ceedings against  her  father,  ascended  the 
throne  of  Britain  after  the  death  of  Lear,  is 
needless  here  to  narrate  ; Lear  and  his  Three 
Daughters  being  dead,  whose  adventures 
alone  concern  our  story. 


OTHELLO. 


Brabantio,  the  rich  senator  of  Venice,  had 
a fair  daughter,  the  gentle  Desdemona.  She 
was  sought  to  by  divers  suitors,  both  on  ac- 
count of  her  many  virtuous  qualities  and  for 
her  rich  expectations.  But  among  the  suitors 
of  her  own  clime  and  complexion  she  saw  none 
whom  she  could  affect  : for  this  noble  lady, 
who  regarded  the  mind  more  than  the  features 
of  men,  with  a singularity  rather  to  be  admired 
than  imitated,  had  'hosen  for  the  object  of 
her  affections  a Moor,  a black  whom  her 
father  loved,  and  often  invited  to  his  house. 

Neither  is  Desdemona  to  be  altogether  con- 
demned for  the  unsuitableness  of  the  person 
whom  she  selected  for  her  lover.  Bating  that 
‘Othello  was  black,  the  noble  Moor  wanted 
nothing  which  might  recommend  him  to  the 
affections  of  the  greatest  lady.  He  was  a 
soldier,  and  a brave  one  ; and  by  his  conduct 
in  bloody  wars  against  the  Turks  had  risen  to 
the  rank  of  general  in  the  Venetian  service, 
and  was  esteemed  and  trusted  by  the  state. 

He  had  been  a traveler,  and  Desdemona 
(as  is  the  manner  of  ladies)  loved  to  hear  him 
tell  the  story  of  his  adventures,  which  he  would 
run  through  from  his  earliest  recollection  ; the 

57 


$8  TALES  FROM  SH A KS PE  A RE, 

battles,  sieges,  and  encounters  which  he  had 
passed  through ; the  perils  he  had  been  ex- 
posed to  by  land  and  by  water ; his  hairbreadth 
escapes  when  he  had  entered  a breach,  or 
marched  up  to  the  mouth  of  a cannon  • and 
how  he  had  been  taken  prisoner  by  the  inso- 
lent enemy,  and  sold  to  slavery : how  he  de- 
meaned himself  in  that  state,  and  how  he 
escaped : all  these  accounts,  added  to  the 
narration  of  the  strange  things  he  had  seen  in 
foreign  countries,  the  vast  wildernesses  and 
romantic  caverns,  the  quarries,  the  rocks  and 
mountains,  whose  heads  are  in  the  clouds ; of 
the  savage  nations  ; the  cannibals  who  are 
man-eaters,  and  a race  of  people  in  Africa 
whose  heads  do  grow  beneath  their  shoulders  : 
these  travelers’  stories  would  so  enchain  the 
attention  of  Desdemona,  that  if  she  were  called 
off  at  any  time  by  household  affairs,  she  would 
despatch  with  all  haste  that  business,  and 
return,  and  with  a greedy  ear  devour  Othello’s 
discourse.  And  once  he  took  advantage  of  a 
pliant  hour  and  drew  from  her  a prayer,  that 
he  would  tell  her  the  whole  story  of  his  life  at 
large,  of  which  she  had  heard  so  much,  but  only 
by  parts  : to  which  he  consented,  and  beguiled 
her  of  many  a tea:*,  when  he  spoke  of  some 
distressful  stroke  which  his  youth  suffered. 

His  story  being  done,  she  gave  him  for  his 
pains  a world  of  sighs ; she  swore  a pretty 
oath,  that  it  was  all  passing  strange,  and  piti- 
ful, wondrous  pitiful  : she  wished  (she  said) 
she  had  not  heard  it,  yet  she  wished  that 


OTHELLO. 


59 


Heaven  had  made  her  such  a man : and  then 
she  thanked  him,  and  told  him,  if  he  had  a 
friend  who  loved  her,  he  had  only  to  teach  him 
how  to  tell  his  story,  and  that  would  woo  her. 
Upon  this  hint,  delivered  not  with  more  frank- 
ness than  modesty,  accompanied  with  a certain 
bewitching  prettiness  and  blushes  which 
Othello  could  not  but  understand,  he  spoke 
more  openly  of  his  love,  and  in  this  golden 
opportunity  gained  the  consent  of  the  generous 
lady  Desdemona  privately  to  marry  him. 

Neither  Othello’s  color  nor  his  fortune  was 
such  that  it  could  be  hoped  Brabantio  would 
accept  him  for  a son-in-law.  He  had  left  his 
daughter  free  ; but  he  did  expect  that,  as  the 
manner  of  noble  Venetian  ladies  was,  she 
would  choose  ere  long  a husband  of  senatorial 
rank  or  expectations  ; but  in  this  he  was  de- 
ceived ; Desdemona  loved  the  Moor,  though 
he  was  black,  and  devoted  her  heart  and  fort- 
unes to  his  valiant  parts  and  qualities  : so 
was  her  heart  subdued  to  an  implicit  devotion 
to  the  man  she  had  selected  for  a husband, 
that  his  very  color,  which  to  all  but  this  dis- 
cerning lady  would  have  proved  an  insur- 
mountable objection,  was  by  her  esteemed 
above  all  the  white  skins  and  clear  com- 
plexions of  the  young  Venetian  nobility,  her 
suitors. 

Their  marriage,  which,  though  privately  car- 
ried, could  not  long  be  kept  a secret,  came  to 
the  ears  of  the  old  man,  Brabantio,  who  ap- 
peared in  a solemn  council  of  the  senate  as  an 


6o 


TALES  FROM  SHARSPEARE. 


accuser  of  the  Moor  Othello,  who  by  spells 
and  witchcraft  (he  maintained)  had  seduced 
the  affections  of  the  fair  Desdemona  to  marry 
him,  without  the  consent  of  her  father,  and 
against  the  obligations  of  hospitality. 

At  this  juncture  of  time  it  happened  that 
the  state  of  Venice  had  immediate  need  of  the 
services  of  Othello,  news  having  arrived  that 
the  Turks  with  mighty  preparation,  had  fitted 
out  a fleet,  which  was  bending  its  course  to  the 
island  of  Cyprus,  with  intent  to  regain  that 
strong  post  from  the  Venetians,  who  then  held 
it  : in  this  emergency  the  state  turned  its  eyes 
upon  Othello,  who  alone  was  deemed  adequate 
to  conduct  the  defense  of  Cyprus  against  the 
Turks.  So  that  Othello,  now  summoned  be- 
fore the  senate,  stood  in  their  presence  at  once 
as  a candidate  for  a great  state  employment, 
and  as  a culprit  charged  with  offenses  which 
by  the  laws  of  Venice  were  made  capital. 

The  age  and  senatorial  character  of  old 
Brabantio  commanded  a most  patient  hearing 
from  that  grave  assembly  ; but  the  incensed 
father  conducted  his  accusation  with  so  much 
intemperance,  producing  likelihoods  and  alle- 
gations for  proofs,  that,  when  Othello  was 
called  upon  for  his  defense,  he  had  only  to 
relate  a plain  tale  of  the  course  of  his  love  • 
which  he  did  with  such  an  artless  eloquence, 
recounting  the  whole  story  of  his  wooing,  as 
we  have  related  it  above,  and  delivered  his 
speech  with  so  noble  a plainness  (the  evidence 
of  truth),  that  the  duke,  who  sat  as  chief  judge, 


OTHELLO . 


6l 


could  not  help  confessing,  that  a tale  so  told 
would  have  won  his  daughter  too  : and  the 
spells  and  conjurations  which  Othello  had 
used  in  his  courtship  plainly  appeared  to  have 
been  no  more  than  the  honest  arts  of  men  in 
love  ; and  the  only  witc  craft  which  he  had 
used,  the  faculty  of  telling  a soft  tale  to  win  a 
lady’s  ear. 

This  statement  of  Othello  was  confirmed  by 
the  testimony  of  the  lady  Desdemona  herself, 
who  appeared  in  court,  and  professing  a duty 
to  her  father  for  life  and  education,  challenged 
leave  of  him  to  profess  a yet  higher  duty  to  her 
lord  and  husband,  even  so  much  as  her  mother 
had  shown  in  preferring  him  (Brabantio)  above 
her  father. 

The  old  senator,  unable  to  maintain  his  plea, 
called  the  Moor  to  him  with  many  expressions 
of  sorrow,  and,  as  an  act  of  necessity,  be- 
stowed upon  him  his  daughter,  whom,  if  he  had 
been  free  to  withhold  her  (he  told  him)  he 
would  with  all  his  heart  have  kept  from  him 
adding,  that  he  was  glad  at  soul  that  he  had 
no  other  child,  for  this  behavior  of  Desdemona 
would  have  taught  him  to  be  a tyrant,  and  hang 
clogs  on  them  for  her  desertion. 

This  difficulty  being  got  over,  Othello,  to 
whom  custom  had  rendered  the  hardships  of 
a military  life  as  natural  as  food  and  rest  are 
to  other  men,  readily  undertook  the  manage- 
ment of  the  wars  in  Cyprus : and  Desdemona, 
preferring  the  honor  of  her  lord  (though 
with  danger)  before  the  indulgence  of  those. 


62 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


idle  delights  in  which  new-married  people 
usually  waste  their  time,  cheerfully  consented 
to  his  going. 

No  sooner  were  Othello  and  his  lady  landed 
in  Cyprus,  than  news  arrived  that  a desperate 
tempest  had  dispersed  the  Turkish  fleet,  and 
thus  the  ’sland  was  secure  from  any  immediate 
apprehension  of  an  attack.  But  the  war  which 
Othello  was  to  suffer  was  now  beginning ; and 
the  enemies  which  malice  stirred  up  against 
this  innocent  lady  proved  in  their  nature  more 
deadly  than  strangers  or  infidels. 

Among  all  the  general’s  friends  no  one  pos- 
sessed the  confidence  of  Othello  more  entirely 
than  Cassio.  Michael  Cassio  was  a young 
soldier,  a Florentine,  gay,  amorous,  and  of 
pleasing  address,  favorite  qualities  with 
women  ; he  was  handsome,  and  eloquent,  and 
exactly  such  a person  as  might  alarm  the  jeal- 
ousy of  a man  advanced  in  years  (as  Othello 
in  some  measure  was),  who  had  married  a 
young  and  beautiful  wife ; but  Othello  was  as 
free  from  jealousy  as  he  was  noble,  and  as  in- 
capable of  suspecting  as  of  doing,  a base 
action.  He  had  employed  this  Cassio  in  his 
love  affair  with  Desdemona,  and  Cassio  had 
been  a sort  of  go-between  in  his  suit : for 
Othello,  fearing  that  himself  had  not  those  soft 
parts  of  conversation  which  please  ladies,  and 
finding  these  qualities  in  his  friend,  would 
often  depute  Cassio  to  go  (as  he  phrased  it)  a 
courting  for  him : such  innocent  simplicity 
being  an  honor  rather  than  a blemish  to  the 


OTHELLO. 


63 


character  of  the  valiant  Moor.  So  that  no 
wonder  if  next  to  Othello  himself  (but  at  far 
distance,  as  beseems  a virtuous  wife)  the 
gentle  Desdemona  loved  and  trusted  £assio. 
Nor  had  the  marriage  of  this  couple  made  any 
difference  in  their  behavior  to  Michael  Cassio. 
He  frequented  their  house,  and  his  free  and 
rattling  talk  was  no  unpleasing  variety  to 
Othello,  who  was  himself  of  a more  serious 
temper  : for  such  tempers  are  observed  often 
to  delight  in  their  contraries,  as  a relief  from 
the  oppressive  excess  of  their  own  : and  Des- 
demona and  Cassio  would  talk  and  laugh 
together,  as  in  the  days  when  he  went  a court- 
ing for  his  friend. 

Othello  had  lately  promoted  Cassio  to  be  the 
lieutenant,  a place  of  trust,  and  nearest  to  the 
general’s  person.  This  promotion  gave  great 
offence  to  Iago,  an  older  officer,  who  thought 
he  had  a better  claim  than  Cassio,  and  would 
often  ridicule  Cassio,  as  a fellow  fit  only  for 
the  company  of  ladies,  and  one  that  knew  no 
more  of  the  art  of  war,  or  how  to  set  an  army 
in  array  for  battle,  than  a girl.  Iago  hated 
Cassio,  and  he  hated  Othello  as  well  for  favor- 
ing Cassio  as  for  an  unjust  suspicion  which  he 
had  lightly  taken  up  against  Othello,  that  the 
Moor  was  too  fond  of  Iago’s  wife  Emilia. 
From  these  imaginary  provocations,  the  plot- 
ting mind  of  Iago  conceived  a horrid  scheme 
of  revenge,  which  should  involve  both  Cassio, 
the  Moor,  and  Desdemona  in  one  common 
ruin. 


64  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARR . 

Iago  was  artful,  and  had  studied  human 
nature  deeply,  and  he  knew  that  of  all  the 
torments  which  afflict  the  mind  of  man  (and 
far  beyond  bodily  torture),  the  pains  of  jealousy 
were  the  most  intolerable,  and  had  the  sorest 
sting.  If  he  could  succeed  in  making  Othello 
jealous  of  Cassio,  he  thought  it  would  be  an 
exquisite  plot  of  revenge,  and  might  end  in  the 
death  of  Cassio  or  Othello,  or  both  ; he  cared 
not. 

The  arrival  of  the  general  and  his  lady  in 
Cyprus,  meeting  with  the  news  of  the  disper- 
sion of  the  enemy's  fleet,  made  a sort  of  holiday, 
in  the  island.  Everybody  gave  themselves  up 
to  feasting  and  making  merry.  Wine  flowed 
in  abundance,  and  cups  went  round  to  the 
health  of  the  black  Othello,  and  his  lady  the 
fair  Desdemona. 

Cassio  had  the  direction  of  the  guard  that 
night,  with  a charge  from  Othello  to  keep  the 
soldiers  from  excess  in  drinking,  that  no  brawl 
might  arise,  to  fright  the  inhabitants,  or  dis- 
gust them  with  the  new-landed  forces.  That 
night  Iago  began  his  deep-laid  plans  of  mis- 
chief ; under  color  of  loyalty  and  love  to  the 
general,  he  enticed  Cassio  to  make  rather  too 
free  with  the  bottle  (a  great  fault  in  an  officer 
upon  guard).  Cassio  for  a time  resisted,  but 
he  could  not  long  hold  out  against  the  honest 
freedom  which  Iago  knew  how  to  put  on,  but 
kept  swallowing  glass  after  glass  (as  Iago  still 
plied  him  with  drink  and  encouraging  songs), 
and  Cassio’s  tongue  ran  over  in  praise  of  the 


OTHELLO. 


65 

lady  Desdemona,  whom  he  again  and  again 
toasted,  affirming  that  she  was  a most  exquisite 
lady  : until  at  last  the  en  my  which  he  put  into 
his  mouth  stole  away  brains  ; and  upon  some 
provocation  given  him  by  a fellow  whom  I ago 
had  set  on,  swords  were  drawn,  and  Montano, 
a worthy  officer  who  interfered  to  appease  the 
dispute,  was  wounded  in  the  scuffle.  The  riot 
now  began  to  be  general,  and  Iago,  who  had 
set  on  foot  the  mischief,  was  foremost,  in 
spreading  the  alarm,  causing  the  castle-bell 
to  be  rung  (as  if  some  dangerous  mutiny, 
instead  of  a slight  drunken  quarrel,  had 
arisen)  : the  alarm-bell  ringing  awakened 

Othello,  who,  dressing  in  a hurry,  and  coming 
to  the  scene  of  action,  questioned  Cassio  of  the 
cause.  Cassio  was  now  come  to  himself,  the 
effect  of  the  wine  having  a little  gone  off,  but 
was  too  much  ashamed  to  reply  ; and  Iago, 
pretending  a great  reluctance  to  accuse  Cassio, 
but  as  it  were  forced  into  it  by  Othello,  who 
insisted  to  know  the  truth,  gave  an  account  of 
the  whole  matter  (leaving  out  his  own  share  in 
it,  which  Cassio  was  too  far  gone  to  remember) 
in  such  a manner,  as  while  he  seemed  to  make 
Cassio’s  offense  less,  did  indeed  make  it  appear 
greater  than  it  was.  The  result  was,  that 
Othello,  who  was  a strict  observer  of  discipline, 
was  compelled  to  take  away  Cassio’s  place  of 
lieutenant  from  him. 

Thus  did  Iago’s  first  artifice  succeed  com- 
pletely ; he  had  now  undermined  his  hated 
rival,  and  thrust  him  out  of  his  place;  but  a 

5 


66 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


further  use  was  hereafter  to  be  made  of  the 
adventure  of  this  disastrous  night. 

Cassio,  whom  this  misfortune  had  entirely 
sobered,  now  lamented  to  his  seeming  friend 
Iago,  that  he  should  have  been  such  a fool  as 
to  transform  himself  into  a beast.  He  was 
undone,  for  how  could  he  ask  the  general  for 
his  place  again  ! he  would  tell  him  he  was  a 
drunkard.  He  despised  himself.  Iago,  af- 
fecting to  make  light  of  it,  said  that  he,  or  any 
man  living,  might  be  drunk  upon  occasion  ; it 
remained  now  to  make  the  best  of  a bad 
bargain  ; the  general’s  wife  was  now  the 
general,  and  could  do  anything  with  Othello  ; 
that  he  were  best  to  apply  to  the  lady  Desde- 
mona  to  mediate  for  him  with  her  lord  ; that 
she  was  of  a frank,  obliging  disposition,  and 
would  readily  undertake  a good  office  of  this 
sort,  and  set  Cassio  right  again  in  the  gerreral’s 
favor ; and  then  this  crack  in  their  love 
would  be  made  stronger  than  ever.  A good 
advice  of  Iago,  if  it  had  not  been  given  for 
wicked  purposes,  which  will  after  appear. 

Cassio  did  as  Iago  advised  him,  and  made 
application  to  the  lady  Desdemona,  who  was 
easy  to  be  won  over  in  any  honest  suit ; and 
she  promised  Cassio  that  she  would  be  his 
solicitor  with  her  lord,  and  rather  die  than 
give  up  his  cause.  This  she  immediately  set 
about  in  so  earnest  and  pretty  a manner,  that 
Othello,  who  was  mortally  offended  with 
Cassio,  could  not  put  her  off.  When  he 
pleaded  delay,  and  that  it  was  too  soon  to 


OTHELLO. 


67 


pardon  such  an  offender,  she  would  not  be 
beat  back,  but  insisted  that  it  should  be  the 
next  night,  or  the  morning  after,  or  the  next 
morning  to  that  at  farthest.  Then  she  showed 
how  penitent  and  humbled  poor  Cassio  was, 
and  that  his  offense  did  not  deserve  so  sharp 
a check.  And  when  Othello  still  hung 
back,  “ What ! my  lord,”  said  she,  “ that  I 
should  have  so  much  to  do  to  plead  for  Cassio, 
Michael  Cassio,  that  came  a courting  for  you, 
and  oftentimes,  when  I have  spoken  in  dis- 
praise of  you,  has  taken  your  part ! I count 
this  but  a little  thing  to  ask  of  you.  When  I 
mean  to  try  your  love  indeed,  I shall  ask  a 
weighty  matter.”  Othello  could  deny  nothing 
to  such  a pleader,  and  only  requesting  that 
Desdemona  would  leave  the  time  to  him, 
promised  to  receive  Michael  Cassio  again  into 
favor. 

It  happened  that  Othello  and  Iago  had 
entered  into  the  room  where  Desdemona  was, 
just  as  Cassio,  who  had  been  imploring  her 
intercession,  was  departing  at  the  opposite 
door ; and  Iago,  who  was  full  of  art,  said  in  a 
low  voice,  as  if  to  himself,  “ I like  not  that.” 
Othello  took  no  great  notice  of  what  he  said  ; 
indeed  the  conference  which  immediately 
took  place  with  his  lady  put  it  out  of  his  head  ; 
but  he  remembered  it  afterwards.  For  when 
Desdemona  was  gone,  Iago,  as  if  for  mere 
satisfaction  of  his  thought,  questioned  Othello 
whether  Michael  Cassio,  when  Othello  was 
courting  his  lady,  knew  of  his  love.  To  this 


68 


TALES  FROM  SH A KS  PE  A RE. 


the  general  answering  in  the  affirmative,  and 
adding,  that  he  had  gone  between  them  very 
often  during  the  courtship,  lago  knitted  his 
brow,  as  if  he  had  got  fresh  light  of  some 
terrible  matter,  and  cried,  “ Indeed  ! ” This 
brought  into  Othello’s  mind  the  words  which 
lago  had  let  fall  upon  entering  the  room  and 
seeing  Cassio  with  Desdemona  ; and  he  began 
to  think  there  was  some  meaning  in  all  this  : 
for  he  deemed  lago  to  be  a just  man,  and  full 
of  love  and  honesty,  and  what  in  a false  knave 
would  be  tricks,  in  him  seemed  to  be  the 
natural  workings  of  an  honest  mind,  big  with 
something  too  great  for  utterance  : and  Othello 
prayed  lago  to  speak  what  he  knew,  and  to 
give  his  worst  thoughts  words.  “ And  what,” 
said  lago,  “ if  some  thoughts  very  vile  should 
have  intruded  into  my  breast,  as  where  is  the 
palace  into  which  foul  things  do  not  enter?  ” 
Then  lago  went  on  to  say,  what  a pity  it  were 
if  any  trouble  should  arise  to  Othello  out  of 
his  imperfect  observations ; that  it  would  not 
be  for  Othello’s  peace  to  know  his  thoughts ; 
that  people’s  good  names  were  not  to  be  taken 
away  for  slight  suspicions  ; and  when  Othello’s 
curiosity  was  raised  almost  to  distraction  with 
these  hints  and  scattered  words,  lago,  as  if 
in  earnest  care  for  Othello’s  peace  of  mind, 
besought  him  to  beware  of  jealousy  ; with  such 
art  did  this  villain  raise  suspicions  in  the 
unguarded  Othello,  by  the  very  caution  which 
he  pretended  to  give  him  against  suspicion. 
“ I know,”  said  Othello,  “ that  my  wife  is  fair, 


OTHELLO . 


69 

loves  company  and  feasting,  is  free  of  speech, 
sings,  plays,  and  dances  well ; but  where 
virtue  is  these  qualities  are  virtuous.  I must 
have  proof  before  I think  her  dishonest.” 
Then  Iago,  as  if  glad  that  Othello  was  slow  to 
believe  ill  of  his  lady,  frankly  declared  that  he 
had  no  proof,  but  begged  Othello  to  observe 
her  behavior  well,  when  Cassio  was  by;  not 
to  be  jealous  nor  too  secure  neither,  for  that 
he  (Iago)  knew  the  dispositions  of  the  Italian 
ladies,  his  countrywomen,  better  than  Othello 
could  do;  and  that  in  Venice  the  wives  let 
heaven  see  many  pranks  they  dared  not  show 
their  husbands.  Then  he  artfully  insinuated, 
that  Desdemona  deceived  her  father  in  mar- 
rying with  Othello,  and  carried  it  so  closely, 
that  the  poor  old  man  thought  that  witchcraft 
had  been  used.  Othello  was  much  moved 
with  this  argument,  which  brought  the  matter 
home  to  him,  for  if  she  had  deceived  her  father, 
why  might  she  not  deceive  her  husband  ? 

Iago  begged  pardon  for  having  moved  him ; 
but  Othello,  assuming  an  indifference,  while 
he  was  really  shaken  with  inward  grief  at 
Iago’s  words,  begged  him  to  go  on,  which 
Iago  did  with  many  apologies,  as  if  unwilling 
to  produce  anything  against  Cassio,  whom  he 
called  his  friend  : he  then  came  strongly  to 
the  point,  and  reminded  Othello  how  Desde- 
mona had  refused  many  suitable  matches  of 
her  own  clime  and  complexion,  and  had  married 
him,  a Moor,  which  showed  unnatural  in  her, 
and  proved  her  to  have  a headstrong  will : 


7° 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


and  when  her  better  judgment  returned,  how 
probable  it  was  she  should  fall  upon  comparing 
Othello  with  the  fine  forms  and  clear  white 
complexions  of  the  young  Italians  her  country- 
men. He  concluded  with  advising  Othello  to 
put  off  his  reconcilement  with  Cassio  a little 
longer,  and  in  the  meanwhile  to  note  with 
what  earnestness  Desdemona  should  intercede 
in  his  behalf ; for  that  much  would  be  seen  in 
that.  So  mischievously  did  this  artful  villain 
lay  his  plots  to  turn  the  gentle  qualities  of 
this  innocent  lady  into  her  destruction,  and 
make  a net  for  her  out  of  her  own  goodness  to 
entrap  her  : first  setting  Cassio  on  to  entreat 
her  mediation,  and  then  out  of  that  very  medi- 
ation contriving  stratagems  for  her  ruin. 

The  conference  ended  with  Iago’s  begging 
Othello  to  account  his  wife  innocent  until 
he  had  more  decisive  proof ; and  Othello 
promised  to  be  patient ; but  from  that  moment 
the  deceived  Othello  never  tasted  content  of 
mind.  Poppy,  nor  the  juice  of  mandragora, 
nor  all  the  sleeping  potions  in  the  world,  could 
ever  again  restore  to  him  that  sweet  rest  which 
he  had  enjoyed  but  yesterday.  His  occupation 
sickened  upon  him.  He  no  longer  took  delight 
in  arms.  His  heart,  that  used  to  be  roused 
at  the  sight  of  troops,  and  banners,  and  battle- 
array,  and  wouL.  and  leap  at  the  so,  -d  of  a 
drum,  or  a trumpet,  or  a neighing  war-horse, 
seemed  to  have  lost  all  that  pride  and  ambi- 
tion, which  are  a soldier’s  virtue ; and  his 
military  ardor  and  all  his  old  joys  forsook 


OTHELLO. 


71 


him.  Sometimes  he  thought  his  wife  honest, 
and  at  times  he  thought  her  not  so  ; sometimes 
he  thought  Iago  just,  and  at  times  he  thought 
him  not  so;  then  he  would  wish  that  he  had 
never  known  of  it ; he  was  not  the  worse  for 
her  loving  Cassio,  so  long  as  he  knew  it  not  : 
torn  in  pieces  with  these  distracting  thoughts, 
he  once  laid  hold  on  Iago’s  throat,  and  de^ 
manded  proof  of  Desdemona's  guilt,  or  threat- 
ened instant  dea  h f r his  having  belied  her. 
Iago,  feigning  indignation  that  his  honesty 
should  be  taken  for  a vice,  asked  Othello,  if  he 
had  not  sometimes  seen  a handkerchief  spotted 
with  strawberries  in  his  wife’s  hand.  Othello 
answered,  that  he  had  given  her  such  a one, 
and  that  it  was  his  first  gift.  “ That  same 
handkerchief,”  said  Iago,  “ did  I see  Michael 
Cassio  this  day  wipe  his  face  with.”  “ If  it 
be  as  you  say,”  said  Othello,  “ I will  not  rest 
till  a wide  revenge  swallow  them  up  : and  first, 
for  a token  of  your  fidelity,  I expect  that 
Cassio  shall  be  put  to  death  within  three  days  ; 
and  for  that  fair  devil  [meaning  his  lady],  I 
will  withdraw  and  devise  some  swift  means  of 
death  for  her.” 

Trifles  light  as  air  are  to  the  jealous  proofs 
as  strong  as  holy  writ.  A handkerchief  of  his 
wife’s  seen  in  Cassio’s  hand  was  motive  enough 
to  the  deluded  Othello  to  pass  sentence  of 
death  upon  them  both,  without  once  inquiring 
how  Cassio  came  by  it.  Desdemona  had 
never  given  such  a present  to  Cassio,  nor 
would  this  constant  lady  have  wronged  her 


72* 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


lord  with  doing  so  naughty  a thing  as  giving 
his  presents  to  another  man  ; both  Cassio  and 
Desdemona  were  innocent  of  any  offense 
against  Othello  ; but  the  wicked  Iago,  whose 
spirit  never  slept  in  contrivance  of  villiany,  had 
made  his  wife  (a  good,  but  a meek  woman) 
ste.l  this  handkerchief  from  Desdemona,  under 
pretenc  of  getting  the  work  copied,  but  in 
reality,  to  drop  it  in  Cassio’s  way,  where  he 
might  find  it,  and  give  a handle  to  Iago’s 
suggestion  that  it  was  Desdemona’s  present. 

Othello,  soon  after  meeting  his  wife,  pre- 
tended that  he  had  a headache  (as  he  might 
indeed  with  truth),  and  desired  her  to  lend 
him  her  handkerchief  to  hold  his  temples. 
She  did  so.  “ Not  this,”  said  Othello,  “but 
that  handkerchief  I gave  you.”  Desdemona 
had  it  not  about  her  (for  indeed  it  was  stolen 
as  we  have  related).  “How!  ” said  Othello, 
“this  is  a fault  indeed.  That  handkerchief 
an  Egyptian  woman  gave  to  my  mother ; the 
woman  was  a witch,  and  could  read  people’s 
thoughts  : she  told  my  mother,  while  she  kept 
it,  it  would  make  her  amiable,  and  my  father 
would  love  her;  but,  if  she  lost  it,  or # gave  it 
away,  my  father’s  fancy  would  turn,  and  he 
would  loathe  her  as  much  as  he  had  loved  her. 
She  dying  gave  it  me,  and  bade  me,  if  I ever 
married,  to  give  it  to  my  wife.  I did  so  ; take 
heed  of  it.  Make  it  a darling  as  precious  as 
your  eye.”  “ Is  it  possible  ? ” said  the  frighted 
lady.  “ ’Tis  true  continued  Othello  ; “ it  is 
a magical  handkerchief  ; a sibyl  that  had  lived 


OTHELLO. 


73 


in  the  world  two  hundred  years,  in  a fit  of 
prophetic  fury  worked  it ; the  silkworms  that 
furnished  the  silk  were  hallowed,  and  it  was 
dyed  in  mummy  of  maidens’  hearts  conserved.” 
Desdemona,  hearing  the  wondrous  virtues  of 
the  handkerchief,  was  ready  to  die  with  fear, 
for  she  plainly  perceived  she  had  lost  it,  and 
with  it,  she  feared,  the  affections  of  her  hus- 
band. Then  Othello  started,  and  looked  as 
if  he  were  going  to  do  some  rash  thing,  and 
still  he  demanded  the  handkerchief,  which  when 
she  could  not  produce,  she  tried  to  divert  her 
husband  from  too  serious  thoughts,  and  cheer- 
fully told  him,  she  saw  all  his  talk  about  the 
handkerchief  was  only  to  put  her  off  from  her 
suit  about  Michael  Cassio,  whom  she  went  on 
to  praise  (as  Iago  had  foretold),  till  Othello  in 
perfect  distraction  burst  out  of  the  room,  and 
then  Desdemona,  though  unwillingly,  began 
to  suspect  her  lord  was  jealous. 

What  cause  she  could  have  m'nistered  to 
him  she  knew  not,  and  then  she  accused  her- 
self for  accusing  the  noble  Othello,  and  thought 
to  be  sure  that  some  untoward  news  from 
Venice,  or  some  state  troubles,  had  puddled 
his  spirits,  and  made  his  temper  not  so  sweet 
as  formerly.  And  she  said,  “ Men  are  not 
gods,  and  we  must  not  look  for  that  observance 
from  them  when  they  are  married  which  they 
show  us  on  the  bridal  day.”  And  she  be- 
shrewed  herself  for  so  unkindly  judging  of  his 
unkindness. 

Again  Othello  and  Desdemona  met,  and  he 


74 


TALES  FROM  SH A KS PE  A RE. 


accused  her  more  plainly  of  being  unfaithful, 
and  of  loving  another  man,  but  he  did  not 
name  whom : and  Othello  wept,  and  Des- 
demona  said,  “ Alas  ! the  heavy  day  ! why  do 
you  weep  ? ” And  Othello  told  her  he  could 
have  borne  all  sorts  of  evils  with  fortitude — - 
poverty,  and  disease,  and  disgrace ; but  her 
infidelity  had  broken  his  heart : and  he  called 
her  a weed,  that  looked  so  fair,  and  smelled 
so  sweet,  that  the  sense  ached  at  it ; and 
wished  she  had  never  been  born.  And  when 
he  had  left  her,  this  innocent  lady  was  so 
stupefied  with  wonder  at  her  lord’s  untrue 
suspicion  of  her,  that  a weight-like  sleep  came 
over  her,  and  she  only  desired  her  attendant 
to  make  her  bed,  and  to  lay  her  wedding-sheets 
upon  it,  saying,  that  when  people  teach  their 
babes,  they  do  it  by  gentb  means  and  easy 
tasks,  and  Othello  might  have  chid  her  so  ; for 
in  good  faith  she  was  but  a child  when  she 
was  chidden.  And  this  was  all  the  complaint 
which  this  gentle  lady  made. 

Desdemona  being  retired  to  bed,  expecting 
her  lord  would  follow  her,  soon  fell  into  a 
slumber,  the  effect  of  her  troubled  spirits, 
when  Othello  entered  the  chamber,  full  of  the 
black  purpose  which  he  had  meditated  of  put- 
ting his  lady  to  death.  But  wh  n he  saw  her 
asleep,  he  thought  he  would  not  shed  her 
blood,  nor  scar  that  white  skin  of  hers,  more 
white  than  alabaster.  But  he  was  resolved  she 
should  die,  else  (as  he  said)  she  would  live  to 
betray  more  men,  as  she  had  done  him.  Then 


OTHELLO . 


75 


he  kissed  her  for  the  last  time  (as  he  said),  and 
that  kiss  was  so  sweet,  he  must  needs  kiss  her 
again  ; and  he  wept,  but  he  said  they  were 
cruel  tears. 

Desdemona  was  awakened  with  his  kisses, 
and  she  looked  upon  Othello,  and  she  saw  him 
gnaw  his  under  lip,  and  roll  his  eyes,  and  she 
knew  he  was  always  fatal  when  he  looked  so  : 
and  he  bade  her  prepare  for  death,  and  to  say 
her  prayers,  for  he  would  not  kill  her  soul. 
And  this  innocent  wife,  as  she  lay  at  his 
mercy,  begged  for  compassion,  and  to  know 
her  fault ; and  then  he  named  Cassio,  and  the 
handkerchief  which  (he  said)  she  had  given 
him  ; and  as  the  guiltless  lady  was  proceed- 
ing to  clear  herself,  he  suddenly  would  hear 
no  more,  but  covering  her  up  in  the  bedclothes, 
stifled  her  till  she  died. 

In  this  instant  of  time  was  brought  into  the 
house  Cassio,  wounded  and  bleeding,  whom 
Iago  had  set  one  of  his  creatures  on  to  assas- 
sinate ; but  the  fellow  not  succeeding  in  his 
attempt  to  kill  Cassio  (whom  he  wounded,  but 
not  mortally),  and  being  himself  killed  by 
Iago  to  prevent  discovery,  in  his  pockets  were 
found  certain  letters,  which  made  the  guilt  of 
Iago,  and  the  innocence  of  Cassio,  clear  beyond 
all  doubt ; and  Cassio  now  came  to  beg  pardon 
of  Othello,  and  to  ask  wherein  he  had  offended 
him,  that  he  had  employed  Iago  to  murder 
him. 

This  discovery  was  as  a thunderstroke  to 
Othello,  who  now  plainly  saw  that  he  was  no 


76  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 

better  than  a murderer,  and  that  his  wife  (poor 
innocent  lady)  had  been  ever  faithful  to  him  ; 
the  extreme  anguish  of  which  discovery  mak- 
ing life  insupportable,  he  fell  upon  his  sword, 
and  throwing  himself  upon  the  body  of  his 
dear  injured  lady,  expired. 

These  rash  acts  raised  much  passion  of 
horror  and  amazement  in  the  bystanders,  for 
Othello  had  borne  a fair  reputation,  and  till  he 
was  wrought  upon  by  the  arts  of  a villain, 
which  his  own  noble  nature  never  gave  him 
leave  to  suspect,  he  was  a loving  and  a doting 
husband.  He  had  loved,  not  wisely,  but  too 
well ; and  his  manly  eyes  (when  he  learned  his 
mistake),  though  not  used  to  weep  on  every 
small  occasion,  dropped  tears  as  fast  as  the 
Arabian  trees  their  gum.  And  when  he  was 
dead  all  his  former  merits  and  his  valiant  acts 
were  remembered.  Nothing  now  remained 
for  his  successor,  but  to  put  the  utmost  censure 
of  the  law  in  force  against  Iago,  who  was  exe- 
cuted with  strict  tortures  ; and  to  send  word 
to  the  state  of  Venice  of  the  lamentable  death 
of  their  renowned  general. 


TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 


Timon,  a lord  of  Athens,  in  the  enjoyment 
of  a princely  fortune,  affected  a humor  of  lib- 
erality which  knew  no  limits.  His  almost 
infinite  wealth  could  not  flow  in  so  fast,  but 
he  poured  it  out  faster  upon  all  sorts  and 
degrees  of  people.  Not  the  poor  only  tasted 
of  his  bounty,  but  great  lords  did  not  disdain 
to  rank  themselves  among  his  dependents  and 
followers.  His  table  was  resorted  to  by  all 
the  luxurious  feasters,  and  his  house  was  open 
to  all  comers  and  goers,  at  Athens.  His  large 
wealth  combined  with  his  free  and  prodigal 
nature  to  subdue  all  hearts  to  his  love ; men 
of  all  minds  and  dispositions  tendered  their 
services  to  lord  Timon,  from  the  glass-faced 
flatterer,  whose  face  reflects  as  in  a mirror  the 
present  humor  of  his  patron,  to  the  rough  and 
unbending  cynic,  who,  affecting  a contempt  of 
men’s  persons,  and  an  indifference  to  worldly 
things,  yet  could  not  stand  out  against  the 
gracious  manners  and  munificent  soul  of  lord 
Timon,  but  would  come  (against  his  nature)  to 
partake  of  his  royal  entertainments,  and  return 
most  rich  in  his  own  estimation  if  he  had  re- 
ceived a nod  or  a salutation  from  Timon. 

If  a poet  had  composed  a work  which  wanted 

77 


78  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


a recommendatory  introduction  to  the  world, 
he  had  no  more  to  do  but  to  dedicate  it  to 
lord  Timon,  and  the  poem  was  sure  of  a sale, 
besides  a present  purse  from  the  patron,  and 
daily  access  to  his  house  and  table.  If  a 
painter  had  a picture  to  dispose  of,  he  only 
had  to  take  it  to  lord  Timon,  and  pretend  to 
consult  his  taste  as  to  the  merits  of  it ; nothing 
more  was  wanting  to  persuade  the  liberal- 
hearted  lord  to  buy  it.  If  a jeweler  had  a 
stone  of  price,  or  a mercer  rich  costly  stuffs, 
which  for  their  costliness  lay  upon  his  hands, 
lord  Timon’s  house  was  a ready  mart  always 
open,  where  they  might  get  off  their  wares  or 
their  jewelry  at  any  price,  and  the  good- 
natured  lord  would  thank  them  into  the  bar- 
gain, as  if  they  had  done  him  a piece  of  court- 
esy in  letting  him  have  the  refusal  of  such 
precious  commodities.  So  that  by  this  means 
his  house  was  thronged  with  superfluous  pur- 
chases, of  no  use  but  to  swell  uneasy  and 
ostentatious  pomp ; and  his  person  was  still 
more  inconveniently  beset  with  a crowd  • of 
these  idle  visitors,  lying  poets,  painters,  shark- 
ing tradesmen,  lords,  ladies,  needy  courtiers, 
and  expectants,  who  continually  filled  his 
lobbies,  raining  their  fulsome  flatteries  in 
whispers  in  his  ears,  sacrificing  to  him  with 
adulation  as  to  a god,  making  sacred  the  very 
stirrup  by  which  he  mounted  his  horse,  and 
seeming  as  though  they  drank  the  free  air  but 
through  his  permission  and  bounty. 

Some  of  these  daily  dependents  were  young 


TIMON  OF  A THE  NS. 


79 


men  of  birth,  who  (their  means  not  answering 
to  their  extravagance)  had  been  put  in  prison 
by  creditors,  and  redeemed  thence  by  lord 
Timon  ; these  young  prodigals  thenceforward 
fastened  upon  his  lordship,  as  if  by  common 
sympathy  he  were  necessarily  endeared  to  all 
such  spendthrifts  and  loose  livers,  who,  not 
being  able  to  follow  him  in  his  wealth,  found 
it  easier  to  copy  him  in  prodigality  and  copious 
spending  of  what  was  not  their  own.  One 
of  these  flesh-flies  was  Ventidius,  for  whose 
debts  unjustly  contracted  Timon  but  lately 
had  paid  down  the  sum  of  five  talents. 

But  among  this  confluence,  this  great  flood 
of  visitors,  none  were  more  conspicuous  than 
the  makers  of  presents  and  givers  of  gifts.  It 
was  fortunate  for  these  men,  if  Timon  took  a 
fancy  to  a dog  or  a horse,  or  any  piece  of 
cheap  furniture  which  was  theirs.  The  thing 
so  praised,  whatever  it  was,  was  sure  to  be 
sent  the  next  morning  with  the  compliments 
of  the  giver  for  lord  Timon’s  acceptance,  and 
apologies  for  the  unworthiness  of  the  gift ; and 
this  dog  or  horse,  or  whatever  it  might  be,  did 
not  fail  to  produce,  from  Timon’s  bounty,  who 
would  not  be  outdone  in  gifts,  perhaps  twenty 
dogs  or  horses,  certainly  presents  of  far  richer 
worth,  as  these  pretended  donors  knew  well 
enough,  and  that  their  false  presents  were  but 
the  putting  out  of  so  much  money  at  large  and 
speedy  interest.  In  this  way  lord  Lucius  had 
lately  sent  to  Timon  a present  of  four  milk- 
white  horses  trapped  in  silver,  which  this 


8o 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


cunning  lord  had  observed  Timon  upon  some 
occasion  to  commend ; and  another  lord, 
Lucullus,  had  bestowed  upon  him  in  the  same 
pretended  way  of  free  gift  a brace  of  grey- 
hounds, whose  make  and  fleetness  Timon  had 
been  heard  to  admire  : these  presents  the  easy- 
hearted  lord  accepted  without  suspicion  of  the 
dishonest  views  of  the  presenters ; and  the 
givers  of  course  were  rewarded  with  some  rich 
return,  a diamond  or  some  jewel  of  twenty 
times  the  value  of  their  false  and  mercenary 
donation. 

Sometimes  these  creatures  would  go  to  work 
in  a more  direct  way,  and  with  gross  and  pal- 
pable artifice,  which  yet  the  credulous  Timon 
was  too  blind  to  see,  would  affect  to  admire 
and  praise  something  that  Timon  possessed,  a 
bargain  that  he  had  bought,  or  some  late 
purchase  which  was  sure  to  draw  from  this 
yielding  and  soft-hearted  lord  a gift  of  the  thing 
commended,  for  no  service  in  the  world  done 
for  it  but  the  easy  expense  of  a little  cheap  and 
obvious  flattery.  In  this  way  Timon  but  the 
other  day  had  given  to  one  of  these  mean 
lords  the  bay  courser  which  he  himself  rode 
upon,  because  his  lordship  had  been  pleased 
to  say  that  it  was  a handsome  beast  and  went 
well ; and  Timon  knew  that  no  man  ever  justly 
praised  what  he  did  not  wish  to  possess.  For 
lord  Timon  weighed  his  friends’  affection  with 
his  own,  and  so  fond  was  he  of  bestowing, 
that  he  could  have  dealt  kingdoms  to  those 
supposed  friends,  and  never  have  been  weary. 


TIMON  OF  A THE  NS. 


81 


. 


Not  that  Timon’s  wealth  all  went  to  enrich 
these  wicked  flatterers  ; he  could  do  noble  and 
praiseworthy  actions  ; and  when  a servant  of 
his  once  loved  the  daughter  of  a rich  Athenian, 
but  could  not  hope  to  obtain  her  by  reason 
that  in  wealth  and  rank  the  maid  was  so  far 
above  him,  lord  Timon  freely  bestowed  upon 
his  servant  three  Athenian  talents,  to  make 
his  fortune  equal  with  the  dowry  which  the 
father  of  the  young  maid  demanded  of  him 
who  should  be  her  husband.  But  for  the  most 
part,  knaves  and  parasites  had  the  command 
of  his  fortune,  false  friends  whom  he  did  not 
know  to  be  such,  but,  because  they  flocked 
around  his  person,  he  thought  they  must  needs 
love  him  ; and  because  they  smiled  and  flat- 
tered him,  he  thought  surely  that  his  conduct 
was  approved  by  all  the  wise  and  good.  And 
when  he  was  feasting  in  the  midst  of  all  these 
flatterers  and  mock  friends,  when  they  were 
eating  him  up,  and  draining  his  fortunes  dry 
with  large  draughts  of  richest  wines  drunk  to 
his  health  and  prosperity,  he  could  not  perceive 
the  difference  of  a friend  from  a flatterer,  but 
to  his  deluded  eyes  (made  proud  with  the 
sight),  it  seemed  a precious  comfort  to  have 
so  many,  like  brothers  commanding  one 
another’s  fortunes  (though  it  was  his  own  fort- 
une which  paid  all  the  costs),  and  with  joy 
they  would  run  over  at  the  spectacle  of  such, 
as  it  appeared  to  him,  truly  festive  and  frater- 
nal meeting. 

But  while  he  thus  outwent  the  very  heart  of 
2 


82 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


kindness,  and  poured  out  his  bounty,  as  if 
Plutus,  the  god  of  gold,  had  been  but  his 
steward  ; while  thus  he  proceeded  without  care 
or  stop,  so  senseless  of  expense  that  he  would 
neither  inquire  how  he  could  maintain  it,  nor 
cease  his  wild  flow  of  riot ; his  riches,  which 
were  not  infinite,  must  needs  melt  away  before 
a prodigality  which  knew  no  limits.  But  who 
should  tell  him  so  ? his  flatterers  ? they  had  an 
interest  in  shutting  his  eyes.  In  vain  did  his 
honest  steward  Flavius  try  to  represent  to  him 
his  condition,  laying  his  accounts  before  him, 
begging  of  him,  praying  of  him,  with  an  impor- 
tunity that  op  any  other  occasion  would  have 
been  unmannerly  in  a servant,  beseeching  him 
with  tears  to  look  into  the  state  of  his  affairs. 
Timon  would  still  put  him  off,  and  turn  the 
discourse  to  something  else  ; for  nothing  is  so 
deaf  to  remonstrance  as  riches  turned  to 
poverty,  nothing  so  unwilling  to  believe  its 
situation,  nothing  is  so  incredulous  to  its  own 
true  state,  and  hard  to  give  credit  to  a reverse. 
Often  had  this  good  steward,  this  honest  creat- 
ure, when  all  the  rooms  of  Timon’s  great  house 
have  been  choked  up  with  riotous  feeders  at 
his  master’s  cost,  when  the  floors  have  wept 
with  drunken  spilling  of  wine,  and  every 
apartment  has  blazed  with  lights  and  resounded 
with  music  and  feasting,  often  had  he  retired 
by  himself  to  some  solitary  spot,  and  wept 
faster  than  the  wine  ran  from  the  wasteful 
casks  within,  to  see  the  mad  bounty  of  his  lord, 
and  to  think,  when  the  means  were  gone  which 


TIMON  OF  A THE  NS, 


83 


brought  him  praises  from  all  sorts  of  people, 
how  quickly  the  breath  would  be  gone  of  which 
the  praise  was  made ; praises  won  in  feasting 
would  be  lost  in  fasting,  and  at  one  cloud  of 
winter-showers  these  flies  would  disappear. 

But  now  the  time  was  come  that  Timon 
could  shut  his  ears  no  longer  to  the  represen- 
tations of  this  faithful  steward.  Money  must 
be  had  : and  when  he  ordered  Flavius  to  sell 
some  of  his  land  for  that  purpose,  Flavius 
informed  him,  what  he  had  in  vain  endeavored 
at  several  times  before  to  make  him  listen  to, 
that  most  of  his  land  was  already  sold  or 
forfeited,  and  that  all  he  possessed  at  present 
was  not  enough  to  pay  the  one  half  of  what 
he  owed.  Struck  with  wonder  at  this  repre- 
sentation, Timon  hastily  replied,  “ My  lands 
extended  from  Athens  to  Lacedemon.”  “ O 
my  good  lord,”  said  Flavius,  “ the  world  is  but 
a world,  and  has  bounds ; were  it  all  yours  to 
give  it  in  a breath,  how  quickly  were  it  gone  ! ” 

Timon  consoled  himself  that  no  villainous 
bounty  had  yet  come  from  him,  that  if  he  had 
given  his  wealth  away  unwisely,  it  had  not 
been  bestowed  to  feed  his  vices,  but  to  cherish 
his  friends  ; and  he  bade  the  kind-hearted 
steward  (who  was  weeping)  to  take  comfort  in 
the  assurance  that  his  master  could  never  lack 
means  while  he  had  so  many  noble  friends  ; 
and  this  infatuated  lord  persuaded  himself 
that  he  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  send  and 
borrow,  to  use  every  man’s  fortune  (that  had 
ever  tasted  his  bounty)  in  this  extremity  as 


84  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 

freely  as  his  own.  Then  with  a cheerful  look, 
as  if  confident  of  the  trial,  he  severally  des- 
patched messengers  to  lord  Lucius,  to  lords 
Lucullus  and  Sempronius,  men  upon  whom  he 
had  lavished  his  gifts  in  past  times  without 
measure  or  moderation  ; and  to  Ventidius, 
whom  he  had  lately  released  out  of  prison  by 
paying  his  debts,  and  who  by  the  death  of  his 
father  was  now  come  into  the  possession  of  an 
ample  fortune,  and  well  enabled  to  requite 
Timon’s  courtesy;  to  request  of  Ventidius  the 
return  of  those  five  talents  which  he  had  paid 
for  him,  and  of  each  of  these  noble  lords  the 
loan  of  fifty  talents  : nothing  doubting  that 
their  gratitude  would  supply  his  wants  (if  he 
needed  it)  to  the  amount  of  five  hundred  times 
fifty  talents. 

Lucullus  was  the  first  applied  to.  This 
mean  lord  had  been  dreaming  overnight  of  a 
silver  bason  and  cup,  and  when  Timon’s  serv- 
ant was  announced,  his  sordid  mind  suggested 
to  him  that  this  was  surely  a making  out  of 
his  dream,  and  that  Timon  had  sent  him  such 
a present : but  when  he  understood  the  truth 
of  the  matter,  and  that  Timon  wanted  money, 
the  quality  of  his  faint  and  watery  friendship 
showed  itself,  for  with  many  protestations  he 
vowed  to  the  servant  that  he  had  long  foreseen 
the  ruin  of  his  master’s  affairs,  and  many  a time 
had  he  come  to  dinner  to  tell  him  of  it,  and 
had  come  again  to  supper  to  try  to  persuade 
him  to  spend  less,  but  he  would  take  no  coun- 
sel nor  warning  by  his  coming : and  true  it 


TIMON  OF  A THE  NS. 


85 

was  that  he  had  been  a constant  attender  (as 
he  said)  at  Timon’s  feasts,  as  he  had  in  greater 
things  tasted  his  bounty,  but  that  he  ever 
came  with  that  intent,  or  gave  good  counsel  or 
reproof  to  Timon,  was  a base  unworthy  lie, 
which  he  suitably  followed  up  with  meanly 
offering  the  servant  a bribe,  to  go  home  to  his 
master  and  tell  him  that  he  had  not  found 
Lucullus  at  home. 

As  little  success  had  the  messenger  who  was 
sent  to  lord  Lucius.  This  lying  lord,  who  was 
full  of  Timon’s  meat,  and  enriched  almost  to 
bursting  with  Timon’s  costly  presents,  when 
he  found  the  wind  changed,  and  the  fountain 
of  so  much  bounty  suddenly  stopped,  at  first 
could  hardly  believe  it ; but  on  its  being  con- 
firmed, he  affected  great  regret  that  he  should 
not  have  it  in  his  power  to  serve  lord  Timon, 
for  unfortunately  (which  was  a base  falsehood) 
he  had  made  a great  purchase  the  day  before, 
which  had  quite  disfurnished  him  of  the  means 
at  present,  the  more  beast  he,  he  called  him- 
self, to  put  it  out  of  his  power  to  serve  so  good 
a friend  ; and  he  counted  it  one  of  his  greatest 
afflictions  that  his  ability  should  fail  him  to 
pleasure  such  an  honorable  gentleman. 

Who  can  cal1  any  man  friend  that  dips  in 
the  same  dish  with  him  ? just  of  this  metal  is 
every  flatterer.  In  the  recollection  of  every- 
body Timon  had  been  a father  to  this  Lucius, 
had  kept  up  his  credit  with  his  purse  ; Timon’s 
money  had  gone  to  pay  the  wages  of  his 
servants,  to  pay  the  hire  of  the  laborers  who 


86 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


had  sweat  to  build  the  fine  houses  which 
Lucius’s  pride  had  made  necessary  to  him  : yet 
— oh  ! the  monster  which  man  makes  himself 
when  he  proves  ungrateful ! — this  Lucius  now 
denied  to  Timon  a sum  which,  in  respect  of 
what  Timon  had  bestowed  on  him,  was  less 
than  charitable  men  afford  to  beggars. 

Sempronius  and  every  one  of  those  merce- 
nary lords  to  whom  Timon  applied  in  their  turn, 
returned  the  same  evasive  answer  or  direct 
denial ; even  Ventidius,  the  redeemed  and  now 
rich  Ventidius,  refused  to  assist  him  with  the 
loan  of  those  five  talents  which  Timon  had  not 
lent,  but  generously  given  him  in  his  distress. 

Now  was  Timon  as  much  avoided  in  his 
poverty  as  he  had  been  courted  and  resorted 
to  in  his  riches.  Now  the  same  tongues  which 
had  been  loudest  in  his  praises,  extolling  him 
as  bountiful,  liberal,  and  openhanded,  were 
not  ashamed  to  censure  that  very  bounty  as 
folly,  that  liberality  as  profuseness,  though  it 
had  shown  itself  folly  in  nothing  so  truly  as 
in  the  selection  of  such  unworthy  creatures  as 
themselves  for  its  objects.  Now  was  Timon’s 
princely  mansion  forsaken,  and  become  a 
shunned  and  hated  place,  a place  for  men  to 
pass  by,  not  a place  as  formerly  where  every 
passenger  must  stop  and  taste  of  his  wine  and 
good  cheer ; now,  instead  of  being  thronged 
with  feasting  and  tumultuous  guests,  it  was 
beset  with  impatient  and  clamorous  creditors, 
usurers,  extortioners,  fierce  and  intolerable  in 
their  demands,  pleading  bonds,  interest,  mort- 


TIMON  OF  A THE  NS. 


87 

gages,  iron-hearted  men  that  would  take  no 
denial  nor  putting  off,  that  Timon’s  house  was 
now  his  jail,  which  he  could  not  pass,  nor  go 
in  nor  out  for  them  ; one  demanding  his  due 
of  fifty  talents,  another  bringing  in  a bill  of 
five  thousand  crowns,  which  if  he  would  tell 
out  his  blood  by  drops,  and  pay  them  so,  he 
had  not  enough  in  his  body  to  discharge,  drop 
by  drop. 

In  this  desperate  and  irremediable  state  (as 
it  seemed)  of  his  affairs,  the  eyes  of  all  men 
were  suddenly  surprised  at  a new  and  incredi- 
ble luster,  which  this  setting  sun  put  forth. 
Once  more  lord  Timon  proclaimed  a feast,  to 
which  he  invited  his  accustomed  guests,  lords, 
ladies,  all  that  was  great  or  fashionable  in 
Athens.  Lords  Lucius  and  Lucullus  came 
Yentidius,  Sempronius,  and  the  rest.  Who 
more  sorry  now  than  these  fawning  wretches, 
when  they  found  (as  they  thought)  that  lord 
Timon’s  poverty  was  all  pretence,  and  had  been 
only  put  on  to  make  trial  of  their  loves,  to 
think  that  they  should  not  have  seen  through 
the  artifice  at  the  time,  and  have  had  the  cheap 
credit  of  obliging  his  lordship  ? yet  who  more 
glad  to  find  the  fountain  of  that  noble  bounty, 
which  they  had  thought  dried  up,  still  fresh  and 
running  ? They  came  dissembling,  protesting, 
expressing  deepest  sorrow  and  shame,  that 
when  his  lordship  sent  to  them  they  should  have 
been  so  unfortunate  as  to  want  the  present 
means  to  oblige  so  honorable  a friend.  But 
Timon  begged  them  not  to  give  such  trifles  a 


88 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


thought,  for  he  had  altogether  forgotten  it. 
And  these  base  fawning  lords,  though  they  had 
denied  him  money  in  his  adversity,  yet  could 
not  refuse  their  presence  at  this  new  blaze  of 
his  returning  prosperity.  For  the  swallow 
follows  not  summer  more  willingly  than  men  of 
these  dispositions  follow  the  good  fortunes  of 
the  great,  nor  more  willingly  leaves  winter  than 
these  shrink  from  the  first  appearance  of  a 
reverse : such  summer  birds  are  men.  But 
now  with  music  and  state  the  banquet  of 
smoking  dishes  were  served  up  ; and  when  the 
guests  had  a little  done  admiring  whence  the 
bankrupt  Timon  could  find  means  to  furnish 
so  costly  a feast,  some  doubting  whether  the 
scene  they  saw  was  real,  as  scarce  trusting 
their  own  eyes  ; at  a signal  given,  the  dishes 
were  uncovered,  and  Timon’s  drift  appeared: 
instead  of  those  varieties  and  far-fetched 
dainties  which  they  expected,  that  Timon’s 
epicurean  table  in  past  times  had  so  liberally 
presented,  now  appeared  under  the  covers  of 
these  dishes  a preparation  more  suitable  to 
Timon’s  poverty,  nothing  but  a little  smoke 
and  lukewarm  water,  fit  feast  for  this  knot  of 
mouth-friends,  whose  professions  were  indeed 
smoke,  and  their  hearts  lukewarm  and  slippery 
as  the  water  with  which  Timon  welcomed  his 
astonished  guests,  bidding  them,  “ Uncover 
dogs,  and  lap  ; ” and  before  they  could  recover 
their  surprise,  sprinkling  it  in  their  faces,  that 
they  might  have  enough,  and  throwing  dishes 
and  all  after  them,  who  now  ran  huddling  out, 


TIMO/V  OF  A THENS. 


89 


♦ 

lords,  ladies,  with  their  caps  snatched  up  in 
haste,  a splendid  confusion,  Timon  pursuing 
them,  still  calling  them  what  they  were, 
“ Smooth,  smiling  parasites,  destroyers  under 
the  mask  of  courtesy,  affable  wolves,  meek 
bears,  fools  of  fortune,  feast-friends,  time-flies. ” 
They,  crowding  out  to  avoid  him,  left  the 
house  more  willingly  than  they  had  entered  it : 
some  losing  their  gowns  and  caps  and  some 
their  jewels  in  the  hurry,  all  glad  to  escape  out 
of  the  presence  of  such  a mad  lord,  and  the 
ridicule  of  his  mock  banquet. 

This  was  the  last  feast  that  ever  Timon 
made,  and  in  it  he  took  farewell  of  Athens  and 
the  society  of  men,  for  after  that  he  betook 
himself  to  the  woods,  turning  his  back  upon 
the  hated  city  and  upon  all  mankind,  wishing 
the  walls  of  that  detestable  city  might  sink, 
and  their  houses  fall  upon  their  owners,  wish- 
ing all  plagues  which  infest  humanity,  war, 
outrage,  poverty,  and  diseases,  might  fasten 
upon  its  inhabitants,  praying  the  just  gods  to 
confound  all  Athenians,  both  young  and  old, 
high  and  low ; so  wishing,  he  went  to  the 
woods,  where  he  said  he  should  find  the  un- 
kindest  beast  much  kinder  than  mankind.  He 
stripped  himself  naked,  that  he  might  retain 
no  fashion  of  a man,  and  dug  a cave  to  live  in, 
and  lived  solitary  in  the  manner  of  a beast, 
eating  the  wild  roots,  and  drinking  water, 
flying  from  the  face  of  his  kind,  and  choosing 
rather  to  herd  with  wild  beasts,  as  more  harm- 
less and  friendly  than  man. 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


O ' 

9° 

• 

What  a change  from  lord  Timon  the  rich, 
lord  Timon  the  delight  of  mankind,  to  Timon 
the  naked,  Timon  the  man-hater ! Where 
were  his  flatterers  now  ? Where  were  his  at- 
tendants and  retinue  ? Would  the  bleak  air, 
that  boisterous  servitor,  be  his  chamberlain,  to 
put  his  shirt  on  warm  ? Would  those  stiff 
trees,  that  had  outlived  the  eagle,  turn  young 
and  fairy  pages  to  him,  to  skip  on  his  errands 
when  he  bade  them  ? Would  the  cold  brook, 
when  it  was  iced  with  winter,  administer  to 
him  his  warm  broth  and  caudles  when  sick  of 
an  overnight’s  surfeit  ? Or  would  the  creatures 
that  lived  in  those  wild  woods  come  and  lick 
his  hand  and  flatter  him  ? 

Here  on  a day,  when  he  was  digging  for 
roots,  his  poor  % sustenance,  his  spade  struck 
against  something  heavy,  which  proved  to  b& 
gold,  a great  heap  which  some  miser  had 
probably  buried  in  a time  of  alarm,  thinking  to 
have  come  again  and  taken  it  from  its  prison, 
but  died  before  the  opportunity  had  arrived, 
without  making  any  man  privy  to  the  conceal- 
ment : so  it  lay,  doing  neither  good  nor  harm, 
in  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  its  mother,  as  if  it 
had  never  come  from  thence,  till  the  accidental 
striking  of  Timon’s  spade  against  it  once  more 
brought  it  to  light. 

Here  was  a mass  of  treasure  which,  if  Timon 
had  retained  his  old  mind,  was  enough  to  have 
purchased  him  friends  and  flatterers  again ; 
but  Timon  was  sick  of  the  false  world,  and  the 
sight  of  gold  was  poisonous  to  his  eyes  ; and 


TIM  ON  OF  A THE  NS.  9 1 

he  would  have  restored  it  to  the  earth,  but  that, 
thinking  of  the  infinite  calamities  which  by 
means  of  gold  happen  to  mankind,  how  the 
lucre  of  it  causes  robberies,  oppression,  in- 
justice, briberies,  violence,  and  murder  among 
them,  he  had  a pleasure  in  imagining  (such  a 
rooted  hatred  did  he  bear  to  his  species)  that 
out  of  this  heap  which  in  digging  he  had  dis- 
covered, might  arise  some  mischief  to  plague 
mankind.  And  some  soldiers  passing  through 
the  woods  near  to  his  cave  at  that  instant, 
which  proved  to  be  a part  of  the  troops  of  the 
Athenian  captain  Alcibiades,  who  upon  some 
disgust  taken  against  the  senators  at  Athens 
(the  Athenians  were  ever  noted  to  be  a thank- 
less and  ungrateful  people,  giving  disgust  to 
their  generals  and  best  friends),  was  marching 
at  the  head  of  the  same  triumphant  army 
which  he  had  formerly  headed  in  their  defense, 
to  war  against  them  : Timon,  who  liked  their 
business  well,  bestowed  upon  their  captain  the 
gold  to  pay  his  soldiers,  requiring  no  other 
service  from  him  than  that  he  should  with  his 
conquering  army  lay  Athens  level  with  the 
ground,  and  burn,  slay,  kill  all  her  inhabitants  ; 
not  sparing  the  old  men  for  their  white  beards, 
for  (he  said)  they  were  usurers,  nor  the  young 
children  for  their  seeming  innocent  smiles,  for 
those  (he  said)  would  live,  if  they  grew  up,  to 
be  traitors  ; but  to  steel  his  eyes  and  ears 
against  any  sights  or  sounds  that  might  awaken 
compassion  ; and  not  to  let  the  cries  of  virgins, 
babes,  or  mothers,  hinder  him  from  making 


92  TALES  FROM  S1IAKSPEARE . 

one  universal  massacre  of  the  city,  but  to  con- 
found them  all  in  his  conquest ; and  when  he 
had  conquered,  he  prayed  that  the  gods  would 
confound  him  also,  the  conqueror,  so  thoroughly 
did  Timon  hate  Athens,  Athenians,  and  all 
mankind. 

While  he  lived  in  this  forlorn  state,  leading 
a life  more  brutal  than  human,  he  was  sud- 
denly surprised  one  day  with  the  appearance 
of  a man  standing  in  an  admiring  posture  at 
the  door  of  his  cave.  It  was  Flavius,  the 
honest  steward,  whom  love  and  zealous  affec- 
tion to  his  master  had  led  to  seek  him  out  at 
his  wretched  dwelling,  and  to  offer  his  serv- 
ices ; and  the  first  sight  of  his  master,  the 
once  noble  Timon,  in  that  abject  condition, 
naked  as  he  was  born,  living  in  the  manner  of 
a beast  among  beasts,  looking  like  his  own  sad 
ruins  and  a monument  of  decay,  so  affected 
this  good  servant,  that  he  stood  speechless, 
wrapped  up  in  horror  and  confounded.  And 
when  he  found  utterance  at  last  to  his  words, 
they  were  so  choked  with  tears,  that  Timon 
had  much  ado  to  know  him  again,  or  to  make 
out  who  it  was  that  had  come  (so  contrary  to 
the  experience  he  had  had  of  mankind)  to 
offer  him  service  in  extremity.  And  being  in 
the  form  and  shape  of  a man,  he  suspected 
him  for  a traitor,  and  his  tears  for  false  ; but 
the  good  servant  by  so  many  tokens  confirmed 
the  truth  of  his  fidelity,  and  made  it  clear  that 
nothing  but  love  and  zealous  duty  to  his  once 
dear  master  had  brought  him  there,  that  Timon 


TIMON  OF  A THE  NS. 


93 


was  forced  to  confess  that  the  world  contained 
one  honest  man  ; yet,  being  in  the  shape  and 
form  oE  a man,  he  could  not  look  upon  his 
man’s  face  without  abhorrence,  or  hear  words 
uttered  from  his  man’s  lips  without  loathing  ; 
and  this  singly  honest  man  was  forced  to  de- 
part, because  he  was  a man,  and  because,  with 
a heart  more  gentle  and  compassionate  than 
is  usual  to  man,  he  bore  man’s  detested  form 
and  outward  feature. 

But  greater  visitants  than  a poor  steward 
were  about  to  interrupt  the  savage  quiet  of 
Timon’s  solitude.  For  now  the  day  was  come 
when  the  ungrateful  lords,  of  Athens  sorely 
repented  the  injustice  which  they  had  done  to 
the  noble  Timon.  For  Alcibiades,  like  an  in- 
censed wild  boar,  was  raging  at  the  walls  of 
their  city,  and  with  his  hot  siege  threatened  to 
lay  fair  Athens  in  the  dust.  And  now  the 
memory  of  lord  Timon’s  former  prowess  and 
military  conduct  came  fresh  into  their  forgetful 
minds,  for  Timon  had  been  their  general  in 
past  times,  and  was  a valiant  and  expert 
soldier,  who  alone  of  all  the  Athenians  was 
deemed  able  to  cope  with  a besieging  army 
such  as  then  threatened  them,  or  to  drive  back 
the  furious  approaches  of  Alcibiades. 

A deputation  of  the  senators  was  chosen  in 
this  emergency  to  wait  upon  Timon.  To  him 
they  come  in  their  extremity,  to  whom,  when 
he  was  in  extremity,  they  had  shown  but  small 
regard  ; as  if  they  presumed  upon  his  gratitude 
whom  they  had  disobliged,  and  had  derived  a 


94 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


claim  to  his  courtesy  from  their  own  most  dis- 
courteous and  unpiteous  treatment. 

Now  they  earnestly  beseech  him,  implore 
him  with  tears,  to  return  and  save  that  city, 
from  which  their  ingratitude  had  so  lately 
driven  him  ; now  they  offer  him  riches,  power, 
dignities,  satisfaction  for  past  injuries,  and 
public  honors  and  the  public  love ; their  per- 
sons, lives  and  fortunes,  to  be  at  his  disposal, 
if  he  will  but  come  back  and  save  them.  But 
Timon  the  naked,  Timon  the  man-hater,  was 
no  longer  lord  Timon,  the  lord  of  bounty, 
the  flower  of  valor,  their  defense  in  war,  their 
ornament  in  peace.  If  Alcibiades  killed  his 
countrymen,  Timon  cared  not.  If  he  sacked 
fair  Athens,  and  slew  her  old  men  and  her 
infants,  Timon  would  rejoice.  So  he  told 
them ; and  that  there  was  not  a knife  in  the 
unruly  camp  which  he  did  not  prize  above  the 
reverendest  throat  in  Athens. 

This  was  all  the  answer  he  vouchsafed  to 
the  weeping,  disappointed  senators  ; only  at 
parting,  he  bade  them  commend  him  to  his 
countrymen,  and  tell  them,  that  to  ease  them 
of  their  griefs  and  anxieties,  and  to  prevent 
the  consequences  of  fierce  Alcibiades’  wrath, 
there  was  yet  a way  left,  which  he  would  teach 
them,  for  he  had  yet  so  much  affection  left  for 
his  dear  countrymen  as  to  be  willing  to  do  them 
a kindness  before  his  death.  These  words  a 
little  revived  the  senators,  who  hoped  that  his 
kindness  for  their  city  was  returning.  Then 
Timon  told  them  that  he  had  a tree,  which 


TIMON  OF  A THE  NS. 


95 


grew  near  his  cave,  which  he  should  shortly 
have  occasion  to  cut  down,  and  he  invited  all 
his  friends  in  Athens,  high  or  low,  of  what 
degree  soever,  who  wished  to  shun  affliction, 
to  come  and  take  a taste  of  his  tree  before  he 
cut  it  down ; meaning  that  they  might  come 
and  hang  themselves  on  it,  and  escape  afflic- 
tion that  way. 

And  this  was  the  last  courtesy,  of  all  his 
noble  bounties,  which  Timon  showed  to  man- 
kind, and  this  the  last  sight  of  him  which  his 
countrymen  had  : for  not  many  days  after,  a 
poor  soldier,  passing  by  the  sea-beach,  which 
was  at  a little  distance  from  the  woods  which 
Timon  frequented,  found  a tomb  on  the  verge 
of  the  sea,  with  an  inscription  upon  it,  pur- 
porting that  it  was  the  grave  of  Timon  the 
man-hater,  who  “ while  he  lived,  did  hate  all 
living  men,  and  dying,  wished  a plague  might 
consume  all  caitiffs  left  ! ” 

Whether  he  finished  his  life  by  violence,  or 
whether  mere  distaste  of  life  and  the  loathing 
he  had  for  mankind  brought  Timon  to  his  con- 
clusion, was  not  clear,  yet  all  men  admired  the 
fitness  of  his  epitaph,  and  the  consistency  of 
his  end : dying,  as  he  had  lived,  a hater  of 
mankind  : and  some  there  were  who  fancied  a 
conceit  in  the  very  choice  which  he  made  of 
the  sea-beach  for  his  place  of  burial,  where 
the  vast  sea  might  weep  forever  upon  his 
grave,  as  in  contempt  for  the  transient  and 
shallow  tears  of  hypocritical  and  deceitful 
mankind. 


MACBETH. 


When  Duncan  the  Meek  reigned  king  of 
Scotland,  there  lived  a great  thane,  or  lord, 
called  Macbeth.  This  Macbeth  was  a near 
kinsman  to  the  king,  and  in  great  esteem  at 
court  for  his  valor  and  conduct  in  the  wars ; 
an  example  of  which  he  had  lately  given,  in 
defeating  a rebel  army  assisted,  by  the  troops 
of  Norway  in  terrible  numbers. 

The  two  Scottish  generals,  Macbeth  and 
Banquo,  returning  victorious  from  this  great 
battle,  their  way  lay  over  a blasted  heath, 
where  they  were  stopped  by  the  strange  ap- 
pearance of  three  figures  like  women,  except 
that  they  had  beards,  and  their  withered  skins 
and  wild  attire  made  them  look  not  like  any 
earthly  creatures.  Macbeth  first  addressed 
them,  when  they,  seemingly  offended,  laid 
each  one  her  choppy  finger  upon  her  skinny 
lips,  in  token  of  silence  : and  the  first  of  them 
saluted  Macbeth  with  the  title  of  thane  of 
Glamis.  The  general  was  not  a little  startled 
to  find  himself  known  by  such  creatures  ; but 
how  much  more,  when  the  second  of  them 
followed  up  that  salute  by  giving  him  the  title 
of  thane  of  Cawdor,  to  which  honor  he  had  no 
pretensions  ; and,  again  the  third  bid  him, 
96 


MACBETH . 


97 


“All  hail!  king  that  shall  be  hereafter ! ” 
Such  a prophetic  greeting  might  well  amaze 
him,  who  knew  that  while  the  king’s  son  lived 
he  could  not  hope  to  succeed  to  the  throne. 
Then  turning  to  Banquo,  they  pronounced 
him,  in  a sort  of  riddling  terms,  to  be  lesser 
than  Macbeth  and  greater  ! not  so  happy,  yet  much 
happier  ! and  prophesied  that  though  he  should 
never  reign,  yet  his  sons  after  him  should  be 
kings  in  Scotland.  They  then  turned  into  air 
and  vanished:  by  which  the  generals  knew 
them  to  be  the  weird  sisters,  br  witches. 

While  they  stood  pondering  on  the  strange- 
ness of  this  adventure,  there  arrived  certain 
messengers  from  the  king,  who  were  em- 
powered by  him  to  confer  upon  Macbeth  the 
dignity  of  thane  of  Cawdor.  An  event  so 
miraculously  corresponding  with  the  prediction 
of  the  witches  astonished  Macbeth,  and  he 
stood  wrapped  in  amazement,  unable  to  make 
reply  to  the  messengers  ; and  in  that  point  of 
time  swelling  hopes  arose  in  his  mind,  that  the 
prediction  of  the  third  witch  might  in  like 
manner  have  its  accomplishment,  and  that  he 
should  one  day  reign  king  in  Scotland. 

Turning  to  Banquo,  he  said,  “ Do  you  not 
hope  that  your  children  shall  be  kings,  when 
what  the  witches  promised  to  me  has  so  won- 
derfully come  to  pass?”  “That  hope,”  an- 
swered the  general,  “ might  enkindle  you  to  aim 
at  the  throne  ; but  oftentimes  these  ministers 
of  darkness  tell  us  truths  in  little  things  to  be- 
tray us  into  deeds  of  greatest  consequence.” 

7 


g8  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE , 

But  the  wicked  suggestions  of  the  witches 
had  sunk  too  deep  into  the  mind  of  Macbeth 
to  allow  him  to  attend  to  the  warnings  of  the 
good  Banquo.  From  that  time  he  bent  all  his 
thoughts  how  to  compass  the  throne  of  Scot- 
land. 

Macbeth  had  a wife,  to  whom  he  communi- 
cated the  strange  prediction  of  the  weird  sisters, 
and  its  partial  accomplishment.  She  was  a 
bad  ambitious  woman,  and  so  as  her  husband 
and  herself  could  arrive  at  greatness,  she  cared 
not  much  by  what  means.  She  spurred  on 
the  reluctant  purpose  of  Macbeth,  who  felt 
compunction  at  the  thoughts  of  blood,  and 
did  not  cease  to  represent  the  murder  of  the 
king  as  a step  absolutely  necessary  to  the 
fulfillment  of  the  flattering  prophecy. 

It  happened  at  this  time  that  the  king,  who 
out  of  his  royal  condescension  would  oftentimes 
visit  his  principal  nobility  upon  gracious  terms, 
came  to  Macbeth’s  house  attended  by  his  two 
sons,  Malcolm  and  Donalbain,  and  a numerous 
train  of  thanes  and  attendants,  the  more  to 
honor  Macbeth  for  the  triumphal  success  of 
his  wars. 

The  castle  of  Macbeth  was  pleasantly  situ- 
ated, and  the  air  about  it  was  sweet  and  whole- 
some, which  appeared  by  the  nests  which  the 
martlet,  or  swallow,  had  built  under  all  the 
jutting  friezes  and  buttresses  of  the  building, 
wherever  it  found  a place  of  advantage  : for 
where  those  birds  most,  breed  and  haunt  the 
air  is  observed  to  be  delicate.  The  king 


MACBETH. 


99 


entered  well  pleased  with  the  place,  and  not 
less  so  with  the  attentions  and  respect  of  his 
honored  hostess,  lady  Macbeth,  who  had  the 
art  of  covering  treacherous  purposes  with 
smiles  : and  could  look  like  the  innocent  flower, 
while  she  was  indeed  the  serpent  under  it. 

The  king,  being  tired  with  his  journey,  went 
early  to  bed,  and  in  his  state-room  two  grooms 
of  his  chamber  (as  was  the  custom)  slept  beside 
him.  He  had  been  unusually  pleased  with  his 
reception,  and  had  made  presents  before  he 
retired  to  his  principal  officers;  and  among 
the  rest,  had  sent  a rich  diamond  to  lady  Mac- 
beth, greeting  her  by  the  name  of  his  most 
kind  hostess. 

Now  was  the  middle  of  night,  when  over 
half  the  world  nature  seems  dead,  and  wicked 
dreams  abuse  men’s  minds  asleep,  and  none 
but  the  wolf  and  the  murderer  is  abroad.  This 
was  the  time  when  lady  Macbeth  waked  to  plot 
the  murder  of  the  king.  She  would  not  have 
undertaken  a deed  so  abhorrent  to  her  sex, 
but  that  she  feared  her  husband’s  nature,  that 
it  was  too  full  of  the  milk  of  human  kindness 
to  do  a contrived  murder.  She  knew  him  to 
be  ambitious,  but  withal  to  be  scrupulous,  and 
not  yet  prepared  for  that  height  of  crime  which 
commonly  in  the  end  accompanies  inordinate 
ambition.  She  had  won  him  to  consent  to  the 
murder,  but  she  doubted  his  resolution  : and  she 
feared  that  the  natural  tenderness  of  his  dis- 
position (more  humane  than  her  own)  would 
come  between,  and  defeat  the  purpose.  So 


lOO 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


with  her  own  hands  armed  with  a dagger,  she 
approached  the  king’s  bed  ; having  taken  care 
to  ply  the  grooms  of  his  chamber  so  with  wine, 
that  they  slept  intoxicated,  and  careless  of 
their  charge.  There  lay  Duncan,  in  a sound 
sleep  after  the  fatigues  of  his  journey,  and  as 
she  viewed  him  earnestly,  there  was  something 
in  his  face,  as  he  slept,  which  resembled  her 
own  father  ; and  she  had  not  the  courage  to 
proceed. 

She  returned  to  confer  with  her  husband. 
His  resolution  had  begun  to  stagger.  He  con- 
sidered that  there  were  strong  reasons  against 
the  deed.  In  the  first  place,  he  was  not  only 
a subject,  but  a near  kinsman  to  the  king  ; and 
he  had  been  his  host  and  entertainer  that  day, 
whose  duty,  by  the  laws  of  hospitality,  it  was 
to  shut  the  door  against  his  murderers,  not 
bear  the  knife  himself.  Then  he  considered 
how  just  and  merciful  a king  this  Duncan  had 
been,  how  clear  of  offense  to  his  subjects,  how 
loving  to  his  nobility,  and  in  particular  to  him  ; 
that  such  kings  are  the  peculiar  care  of  Heaven, 
and  their  subjects  doubly  bound  to  revenge 
their  deaths.  Besides,  by  the  favors  of  the 
king,  Macbeth  stood  high  in  the  opinion  of  all 
sorts  of  men,  and  how  would  those  honors  be 
stained  by  the  reputation  of  so  foul  a murder  1 

In  these  conflicts  of  the  mind  lady  Macbeth 
found  her  husband  inclining  to  the  better  part, 
and  resolving  to  proceed  no  further.  But  she 
being  a woman  not  easily  shaken  from  her  evil 
purpose,  began  to  pour  in  at  his  ears  words 


MACBETH, ; 


101 


which  infused  a portion  of  her  own  spirit 
into  his  mind,  assigning  reason  upon  reason 
why  he  should  not  shrink  from  what  he  had 
undertaken  ; how  easy  the  deed  was  ; how  soon 
it  would  be  over ; and  how  the  action  of  one 
short  night  would  give  to  all  their  nights  and 
days  to  come  a sovereign  away  and  royalty  ! 
Then  she  threw  contempt  on  his  change  of 
purpose,  and  accused  him  of  fickleness  and 
cowardice ; and  declared  that  she  had  given 
suck,  and  knew  how  tender  it  was  to  love  the 
babe  that  milked  her,  but  she  would,  while  it 
was  smiling  in  her  face,  have  plucked  it  from 
her  breast,  and  dashed  its  brains  out,  if  she 
had  so  sworn  to  do  it,  as  he  had  sworn  to  per- 
form that  murder.  Then  she  added,  how  prac- 
ticable it  was  to  lay  the  guilt  of  the  deed  upon 
the  drunken,  sleepy  grooms.  And  with  the 
valor  of  her  tongue  she  so  chastised  his  slug- 
gish resolutions,  that  he  once  more  summoned 
up  courage  to  the  bloody  business. 

So,  taking  the  dagger  in  his  hand,  he  softly 
stole  in  the  dark,  to  the  room  where  Duncan 
lay ; and  as  he  went,  he  thought  he  saw  an- 
other dagger  in  the  air,  with  the  handle  to- 
wards him,  and  on  the  blade  and  at  the  point 
of  it  drops  of  blood  : but  when  he  tried  to 
grasp  at  it,  it  was  nothing  but  air,  a mere  phan- 
tasm proceeding  from  his  own  hot  and  op- 
pressed brain  and  the  business  he  had  in 
hand. 

Getting  rid  of  this  fear,  he  entered  the  king’s 
room,  whom  he  despatched  with  one  stroke  of 


102 


TALES  FROM  S HA  KS PE  A RE. 


his  dagger.  Just  as  he  had  done  the  murder, 
one  of  the  grooms,  who  slept  in  the  chamber, 
laughed  in  his  sleep,  and  the  other  cried, 
“ Murder,”  which  woke  them  both  ; but  they 
said  a short  prayer  ; one  of  them  said,  “ God 
bless  us  ! ” and  the  other  answered,  “ Amen  ; ” 
and  addressed  themselves  to  sleep  again. 
Macbeth,  who  stood  listening  to  them,  tried  to 
say,  “ Amen,”  when  the  fellow  said  “God  bless 
us  ! ” but,  though  he  had  most  need  of  a bless- 
ing, the  word  stuck  in  his  throat,  and  he  could 
not  pronounce  it. 

Again  he  thought  he  heard  a voice  which 
cried,  “ Sleep  no  more  ; Macbeth  doth  murder 
sleep,  the  innocent  sleep,  that  nourishes  life.” 
Still  it  cried,  “ Sleep  no  more,”  to  all  the  house. 
“ Glamis  hath  murdered  sleep,  and  therefore 
Cawdor  shall  sleep  no  more,  Macbeth  shall 
sleep  no  more.” 

With  such  horrible  imaginations  Macbeth 
returned  to  his  listening  wife,  who  began  to 
think  he  had  failed  of  his  purpose,  and  that 
the  deed  was  somehow  frustrated.  He  came 
in  so  distracted  a state,  that  she  reproached 
him  with  his  want  of  firmness,  and  sent  him  to 
wash  his  hands  of  the  blood  which  stained 
them,  while  she  took  his  dagger,  with  purpose 
to  stain  the  cheeks  of  the  grooms  with  blood, 
to  make  it  seem  their  guilt. 

Morning  came,  and  with  it  the  discovery  of 
the  murder,  which  could  not  be  concealed ; 
and  though  Macbeth  and  his  lady  made  great 
show  of  grief,  and  the  proofs  against  the 


MACBETH. 


I03 


grooms  (the  dagger  being  produced  against 
them  and  their  faces  smeared  with  blood)  were 
sufficiently  strong,  yet  the  entire  suspicion  fell 
upon  Macbeth,  whose  inducements  to  such  a 
deed  were  so  much  more  forcible  than  such 
poor  silly  grooms  could  be  supposed  to  have  ; 
and  Duncan’s  two  sons  fled.  Malcolm,  the 
eldest,  sought  for  refuge  in  the  English  court; 
and  the  youngest,  Donalbain,  made  his  escape 
to  Ireland. 

The  king’s  sons,  who  should  have  succeeded 
him,  having  thus  vacated  the  throne,  Macbeth 
as  next  heir  was  crowned  king,  and  thus  the 
prediction  of  the  weird  sisters  was  literally 
accomplished. 

Though  placed  so  high,  Macbeth  and  his 
queen  could  not  forget  the  prophecy  of  the 
weird  sisters,  that,  though  Macbeth  should  be 
king,  yet  not  his  children,  but  the  children  of 
Banquo,  should  be  kings  after  him.  The 
thought  of  this,  and  that  they  had  defiled  their 
hands  with  blood,  and  done  so  great  crimes, 
only  to  place  the  posterity  of  Banquo  upon  the 
throne,  so  rankled  within  them,  that  they  deter- 
mined to  put  to  death  both  Banquo  and  his 
son,  to  make  void  the  predictions  of  the  weird 
sisters,  which  in  their  own  case  had  been  so 
remarkably  brought  to  pass. 

For  this  purpose  they  made  a great  supper, 
to  which  they  invited  all  the  chief  thanes  ; 
and,  among  the  rest,  with  marks  of  particular 
respect,  Banquo  and  his  son  Fleance  were 
invited.  The  way  by  which  Banquo  was  to 


104 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


pass  to  the  palace  at  night  was  beset  by 
murderers  appointed  by  Macbeth,  who  stabbed 
Banquo;  but  in  the  scuffle  Fleance  escaped. 
From  that  Fleance  descended  a race  of  mon- 
archs  who  afterwards  filled  the  Scottish 
throne,  ending  with  James  the  Sixth  of  Scot- 
land and  the  First  of  England,  under  whom 
the  two  crowns  of  England  and  Scotland  were 
united. 

At  supper  the  queen,  whose  manners  were 
in  the  highest  degree  affable  and  royal,  played 
the  hostess  with  a gracefulness  and  attention 
which  conciliated  every  one  present,  and  Mac- 
beth discoursed  freely  with  his  thanes  and 
nobles,  saying,  that  all  that  was  honorable  in 
the  country  was  under  his  roof,  if  he  had  but 
his  good  friend  Banquo  present,  whom  yet  he 
hoped  he  should  rather  have  to  chide  for 
neglect  than  to  lament  for  any  mischance. 
Just  at  these  words  the  ghost  of  Banquo,  whom 
he  had  caused  to  be  murdered,  entered  the 
room,  and  placed  himself  on  the  chair  which 
Macbeth  was  about  to  occupy.  Though  Mac- 
beth was  a bold  man,  and  one  that  could  have 
faced  the  devil  without  trembling,  at  this  hor- 
rible sight  his  cheeks  turned  white  with  fear, 
and  he  stood  quite  unmanned  with  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  ghost.  His  queen  and  all  the 
nobles,  who  saw  nothing,  but  perceived  him  gaz- 
ing (as  they  thought)  upon  an  empty  chair,  took 
it  for  a fit  of  distraction  ; and  she  reproached 
him,  whispering  that  it  was  but  the  same 
fancy  which  had  made  him  see  the  dagger  in 


MACBETH, 


io5 

the  air  when  he  was  about  to  kill  Duncan. 
But  Macbeth  continued  to  see  the  ghost,  and 
gave  no  heed  to  all  they  could  say,  while  he 
addressed  it  with  distracted  words,  yet  so 
significant,  that  his  queen,  fearing  the  dreadful 
secret  would  be  disclosed,  in  great  haste  dis- 
missed the  guests,  excusing  the  infirmity  of 
Macbeth  as  a disorder  he  was  often  troubled 
with. 

To  such  dreadful  fancies  Macbeth  was 
subject.  His  queen  and  he  had  their  sleeps 
afflicted  with  terrible  dreams,  and  the  blood  of 
Banquo  troubled  them  not  more  than  the 
escape  of  Fleance,  whom  now  they  looked 
upon  as  father  to  a line  of  kings,  who  should 
keep  their  posterity  out  of  the  throne.  With 
these  miserable  thoughts  they  found  no  peace, 
and  Macbeth  determined  once  more  to  seek 
out  the  weird  sisters,  and  know  from  them  the 
worst. 

He  sought  them  in  a cave  upon  the  heath,, 
where  they,  who  knew  by  foresight  of  his 
coming,  were  engaged  in  preparing  their 
dreadful  charms,  by  which  they  conjured  up 
infernal  spirits  to  reveal  to  them  futurity. 
Their  horrid  ingredients  were  toads,  bats,  and 
serpents,  the  eye  of  a newt  and  the  tongue  of 
a dog,  the  leg  of  a lizard  and  the  wing  of  a 
night-owl,  the  scale  of  a dragon,  the  tooth  of  a 
wolf,  the  maw  of  the  ravenous  salt-sea  shark, 
the  mummy  of  a witch,  the  root  of  the  poison- 
ous hemlock  (this  to  have  effect  must  be 
digged  in  the  dark),  the  gall  of  a goat  and  the 


io6  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


liver  of  a Jew,  with  slips  of  the  yew-tree  that 
roots  itself  in  graves,  and  the  finger  of  a dead 
child : all  these  were  set  on  to  boil  in  a great 
kettle,  or  caldron,  which,  as  fast  as  it  grew  too 
hot,  was  cooled  with  a baboon’s  blood : to 
these  they  poured  in  the  blood  of  a sow  that 
had  eaten  her  young,  and  they  threw  into  the 
flame  the  grease  that  had  sweaten  from  a 
murderer’s  gibbet.  By  these  charms  they 
bound  the  infernal  spirits  to  answer  their 
questions. 

It  was  demanded  of  Macbeth,  whether  he 
would  have  his  doubts  resolved  by  them,  or  by 
their  masters  the  spirits^  He,  nothing  daunted 
by  the  dreadful  ceremonies  which  he  saw, 
boldly  answered,  “ Where  are  they  ? let  me 
see  them.”  And  they  called  the  spirits,  which 
were  three.  And  the  first  arose  in  the  like- 
ness of  an  armed  head,  and  he  called  Macbeth 
by  name,  and  bid  him  beware  of  the  thane  of 
Fife ; for  which  caution  Macbeth  thanked 
him  : for  Macbeth  had  entertained  a jealousy 
of  Macduff,  the  thane  of  Fife. 

And  the  second  spirit  arose  in  the  likeness  of 
a bloody  child,  and  he  called  Macbeth  by 
name,  and  bid  him  have  no  fear,  but  laugh  to 
scorn  the  power  of  man,  for  none  of  woman 
born  should  have  power  to  hurt  him  : and  he 
advised  him  to  be  bloody,  bold,  and  resolute. 
“ Then  live,  Macduff  ! ” cried  the  king;  “ what 
need  I fear  of  thee  ? but  yet  I will  make 
assurance  double-sure.  Thou  shalt  not  live  ; 
that  I may  tell  pale-hearted  Fear  it  lies,  and 
sleep  in  spite  of  thunder.” 


MACBETH. 


107 

That  spirit  being  dismissed,  a third  arose  in 
the  form  of  a child  crowned,  with  a tree  in  his 
hand.  He  called  Macbeth  by  name,  and 
comforted  him  against  conspiracies,  saying, 
that  he  should  never  be  vanquished,  until  the 
wood  of  Birnam  to  Dunsinane  Hill  should 
come  against  him.  “ Sweet  bodements  ! 
good  ! ” cried  Macbeth ; “ who  can  unfix  the 
forest,  and  move  it  from  its  earth-bound  roots  ? 
I see  I shall  live  the  usual  period  of  man’s 
life,  and  not  be  cut  off  by  a violent  death. 
But  my  heart  throbs  to  know  one  thing.  Tell 
me,  if  your  art  can  tell  so  much,  if  Banquo’s 
issue  shall  ever  reign  in  this  kingdom  ? ” 
Here  the  caldron  sunk  into  the  ground,  and  a 
noise  of  music  was  heard,  and  eight  shadows, 
like  kings,  passed  by  Macbeth,  and  Banquo 
last,  who  bore  a glass  which  showed  the 
figures  of  many  more,  and  Banquo  all  bloody 
smiled  upon  Macbeth,  and  pointed  to  them  ; 
by  which  Macbeth  knew  that  these  were  the 
posterity  of  Banquo,  who  should  reign  after 
him  in  Scotland  ; and  the  witches,  with  a 
sound  of  soft  music,  and  with  dancing,  making 
a show  of  duty  and  welcome  to  Macbeth, 
vanished.  And  from  this  time  the  thoughts 
of  Macbeth  were  all  bloody  and  dreadful. 

The  first  thing  he  heard  when  he  got  out  of 
the  witches’  cave,  was,  that  Macduff,  thane  of 
Fife,  had  fled  to  England,  to  join  the  army 
which  was  forming  against  him  under  Mal- 
colm, the  eldest  son  of  the  late  king,  with 
intent  to  displace  Macbeth,  and  set  Malcolm, 


108  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 

the  right  heir,  upon  the  throne.  Macbeth, 
stung  with  rage,  set  upon  the  castle  of  Mac- 
duff, and  put  his  wife  and  children,  whom  the 
thane  had  left  behind,  to  the  sword,  and  ex- 
tended the  slaughter  to  all  who  claimed  the 
least  relationship  to  Macduff. 

These  and  such-like  deeds  alienated  the 
minds  of  all  his  chief  nobility  from  him. 
Such  as  could,  fled  to  join  with  Malcolm  and 
Macduff,  who  were  now  approaching  with  a 
powerful  army  which  they  had  raised  in  Eng- 
land ; and  the  rest  secretly  wished  success  to 
their  arms,  though  for  fear  of  Macbeth  they 
could  take  no  active  part.  His  recruits  went 
on  slowly.  Everybody  hated  the  tyrant, 
nobody  loved  or  honored  him,  but  all  sus- 
pected him,  and  he  began  to  envy  the  condi- 
tion of  Duncan,  whom  he  had  murdered,  who 
slept  soundly  in  his  grave,  against  whom  trea- 
son had  done  its  worst  : steel  nor  poison, 
domestic  malice  nor  foreign  levies,  could  hurt 
him  any  longer. 

While  these  things  were  acting,  the  queen, 
who  had  been  the  sole  partner  in  his  wicked- 
ness, in  whose  bosom  he  could  sometimes 
seek  a momentary  repose  from  those  terrible 
dreams  which  afflicted  them  both  nightly, 
died,  it  is  supposed  by  her  own  hands,  unable 
to  bear  the  remorse  of  guilt  and  public  hate ; 
by  which  event  he  was  left  alone,  without  a 
soul  to  love  or  care  for  him,  or  a friend  to 
whom  he  could  confide  his  wicked  purposes. 

He  grew  careless  of  life,  and  wished  for 


MACBETH. 


1 09 

death  ; but  the  near  approach  of  Malcolm’s 
army  roused  in  him  what  remained  of  his 
ancient  courage,  and  he  determined  to  die  (as 
he  expressed  it)  “ with  armor  on  his  back.” 
Besides  this,  the  hollow  promises  of  the  witches 
had  filled  him  with  false  confidence,  and  he 
remembered  the  sayings  of  the  spirits,  that 
none  of  woman  born  was  to  hurt  him,  and  that 
he  was  never  to  be  vanquished  till  Birnam 
wood  should  come  to  Dunsinane,  which  he 
thought  could  never  be.  So  he  shut  himself 
up  in  his  castle,  whose  impregnable  strength 
was  such  as  defied  a siege  : here  he  sullenly 
awaited  the  approach  of  Malcolm.  When, 
upon  a day,  there  came  a messenger  to  him, 
pale  and  shaking  with  fear,  almost  unable  to 
report  that  which  he  had  seen  : for  he  averred 
that  as  he  stood  upon  his  watch  on  the  hill,  he 
looked  towards  Birnam,  and  to  his  thinking 
the  wood  began  to  move!  “Liar  and  slave, ” 
cried  Macbeth,  “ if  thou  speakest  false  thou 
shalt  hang  alive  upon  the  next  tree,  till  famine 
end  thee.  If  thy  tale  be  true,  I care  not  if 
thou  dost  as  much  by  me  : ” for  Macbeth  now 
began  to  faint  in  resolution,  and  to  doubt  the 
equivocal  speeches  of  the  spirits.  He  was  not 
to  fear  till  Birnam  wood  should  come  to 
Dunsinane : and  now  a wood  did  move  .! 
“ However,”  said  he,  “ if  this  which  he  avouches 
be  true,  let  us  arm  and  out.  There  is  no 
flying  hence,  nor  staying  here.  I begin  to  be 
weary  of  the  sun,  and  wish  my  life  at  an  end.” 
With  these  desperate  speeches  he  sallied  forth 


\ 10 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


upon  the  besiegers,  who  had  now  come  up  to 
he  castle. 

The  strange  appearance,  which  had  given 
the  messenger  an  idea  of  a wood  moving,  is 
easily  solved.  When  the  besieging  army 
marched  through  the  wood  of  Birnam,  Mal- 
colm, like  a skillful  general,  instructed  his  sol- 
diers to  hew  down  every  one  a bough  and  bear 
it  before  him,  by  way  of  concealing  the  true 
numbers  of  his  host.  This  marching  of  the 
soldiers  with  boughs  had  at  a distance  the 
appearance  which  had  frightened  the  messen- 
ger. Thus  were  the  words  of  the  spirit 
brought  to  pass,  in  a sense  different  from  that 
in  which  Macbeth  had  understood  them,  and 
one  great  hold  of  his  confidence  was  gone. 

And  now  a severe  skirmishing  took  place, 
in  which  Macbeth,  though  feebly  supported 
by  those  who  called  themselves  his  friends, 
but  in  reality  hated  the  tyrant  and  inclined  to 
the  party  of  Malcolm  and  Macduff,  yet  fought 
with  the  extreme  of  rage  and  valor,  cutting  to 
pieces  all  who  were  opposed  to  him,  till  he 
came  to  where  Macduff  was  fighting.  Seeing 
Macduff,  and  remembering  the  caution  of  the 
spirit,  who  had  counseled  him  to  avoid  Mac- 
duff above  all  men,  he  would  have  turned,  but 
Macduff,  who  had  been  seeking  him  through 
the  whole  fight,  opposed  his  turning,  and  a 
fierce  contest  ensued ; Macduff  giving  him 
many  foul  reproaches  for  the  murder  of  his 
wife  and  children.  Macbeth,  whose  soul  was 
charged  enough  with  blood  of  that  family 


MACBETH. 


Ill 


already,  would  still  have  declined  the  combat; 
but  Macduff  still  urged  him  to  it,  calling  him 
tyrant,  murderer,  hell-hound,  and  villain. 

Then  Macbeth  remembered  the  words  of 
the  spirit,  how  none  of  woman  born  should 
hurt  him  ; and  smiling  confidently  he  said  to 
Macduff,  “ Thou  losest  thy  labor,  Macduff. 
As  easily  thou  mayest  impress  the  air  with  thy 
sword,  as  make  me  vulnerable.  I bear  a 
charmed  life,  which  must  not  yield  to  one  of 
woman  born.” 

“ Despair  thy  charm,”  said  Macduff,  “ and 
let  that  lying  spirit,  whom  thou  hast  served, 
tell  thee,  that  Macduff  was  never  born  of 
woman,  never  as  the  ordinary  manner  of  men 
is  to  be  born,  but  was  untimely  taken  from  his 
mother.” 

“ Accursed  be  the  tongue  which  tells  me  so,” 
said  the  trembling  Macbeth,  who  felt  his  last 
hold  of  confidence  give  way  ; “ and  let  never 
man  in  future  believe  the  lying  equivocations 
of  witches  and  juggling  spirits,  who  deceive  us 
in  words  which  have  double  senses,  and  while 
they  keep  th  ir  promise  literally,  disappoint 
our  hopes  with  a different  meaning.  I will 
not  fight  with  thee.” 

“ Then  live  ! ” said  the  scornful  Macduff ; 
“ we  will  have  a show  of  thee,  as  men  show 
monsters,  and  a painted  board,  on  which  shall 
be  written,  ‘ Here  men  may  see  the  tyrant ! ’ ” 

“ Never,”  said  Macbeth,  whose  courage  re- 
turned with  despair  ; “ I will  not  live  to  kiss 
the  ground  before  young  Malcolm’s  feet,  and 


1 1 2 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


to  be  baited  with  the  curses  of  the  rabble. 
Though  Birnam  wood  be  come  to  Dunsinane, 
and  thou  opposed  to  me  wast  never  born  of 
woman,  yet  will  I try  the  last.”  With  these 
frantic  words  he  threw  himself  upon  Mac- 
duff, who  after  a severe  struggle  in  the  end 
overcame  him,  and  cutting  off  his  head, 
made  a present  of  it  to  the  young  and  law- 
ful king,  Malcolm ; who  took  upon  him  the 
government  which,  by  the  machinations  of  the 
usurper,  he  had  so  long  been  deprived  of,  and 
ascended  the  throne  of  Duncan  the  Meek, 
amid  the  acclamations  of  the  nobles  and  the 
people. 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


Shylock,  the  Jew,  lived  at  Venice ; he  was 
a usurer,  who  had  amassed  an  immense  for- 
tune by  lending  money  at  great  interest  to 
Christian  merchants.  Shylock,  being  a hard- 
hearted man,  exacted  the  payment  of  the  money 
he  lent  with  such  severity,  that  he  was  much 
disliked  by  all  good  men,  and  particularly  by 
Anthonio,  a young  merchant  of  Venice;  and 
Shylock  as  much  hated  Anthonio,  because  he 
used  to  lend  money  to  people  in  distress,  and 
would  never  take  any  interest  for  the  money 
he  lent ; therefore  there  was  great  enmity  be- 
tween this  covetous  Jew  and  the  generous  mer- 
chant Anthonio.  Whenever  Anthonio  met 
Shylock  on  the  Rialto  (or  Exchange),  he  used 
to  reproach  him  with  his  usuries  and  hard 
dealings ; which  the  Jew  would  bear  with 
seeming  patience,  while  he  secretly  meditated 
revenge. 

Anthonio  was  the  kindest  man  that  lived, 
the  best  conditioned,  and  had  the  most  un- 
wearied spirit  in  doing  courtesies  ; indeed  he 
was  one  in  whom  the  ancient  Roman  honor 
more  appeared  than  in  any  that  drew  breath 
in  Italy.  He  was  greatly  beloved  by  all  his 
fellow-citizens  ; but  the  friend  who  was  nearest 
and  dearest  to  his  heart  was  Bassanio,  a noble 
8 113 


1 1 4 TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 

Venetian,  who,  having  but  a small  patrimony, 
had  nearly  exhausted  his  little  fortune  by  liv- 
ing in  too  expensive  a manner  for  his  slender 
means,  as  young  men  of  high  rank  with  small 
fortunes  are  too  apt  to  do.  Whenever  Bas- 
sanio  wanted  money,  Anthonio  assisted  him  ; 
and  it  seemed  as  if  they  had  but  one  heart 
and  one  purse  between  them. 

One  day  Bassanio  came  to  Anthonio,  and 
told  him  that  he  wished  to  repair  his  fortune 
by  a wealthy  marriage  with  a lady  whom  he 
dearly  loved,  whose  father,  that  was  lately 
dead,  had  left  her  sole  heiress  to  a large  es- 
tate ; and  that  in  her  father’s  lifetime  he  used 
to  visit  at  her  house,  when  he  thought  he  had 
observed  this  lady  had  sometimes  from  her 
eyes  sent  speechless  messages,  that  seemed  to 
say  he  would  be  no  unwelcome  suitor  ; but 
not  having  money  to  furnish  himself  with  an 
appearance  befitting  the  lover  of  so  rich  an 
heiress,  he  besought  Anthonio  to  add  to  the 
many  favors  he  had  shown  him,  by  lending 
him  three  thousand  ducats. 

Anthonio  had  no  money  by  him  at  that  time 
to  lend  his  friend  ; but  expecting  soon  to  have 
some  ships  come  home  laden  with  merchandise, 
he  said  he  would  go  to  Shylock,  the  rich  money- 
lender, and  borrow  the  money  upon  the  credit 
of  those  ships. 

Anthonio  and  Bassanio  went  together  to  Shy- 
lock,  and  Anthonio  asked  the  Jew  to  lend  him 
three  thousand  ducats  upon  an  interest  he 
should  require,  to  be  paid  out  of  the  merchan- 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


IJ5 


dise  contained  in  his  ships  at  sea.  On  this, 
Shylock  thought  within  himself,  “ If  I can  once 
catch  him  on  the  hip,  I will  feed  fat  the  ancient 
grudge  I bear  him  ; he  hates  our  Jewish  nation  • 
he  lends  out  money  gratis  ; and  among  the 
merchants  he  rails  at  me  and  my  well-earned 
bargains,  which  he  calls  interest.  Cursed  be 
my  tribe  if  I forgive  him  ! ” Anthonio  finding 
he  was  musing  within  himself  and  did  not  an- 
swer, and  being  impatient  for  money,  said, 
“ Shylock,  do  you  hear  ? will  you  lend  the' 
money?”  To  this  question  the  Jew  replied, 
“ Signor  Anthonio,  on  the  Rialto  many  a time 
and  often  you  have  railed  at  me  about  my 
moneys  and  my  usuries,  and  I have  borne  it 
with  a patient  shrug,  for  sufferance  is  the  badge 
of  all  our  tribe ; and  then  you  have  called  me 
unbeliever,  cut-throat  dog,  and  spit  upon  my 
Jewish  garments,  and  spurned  at  me  with  your 
foot,  as  if  I were  a cur.  Well  then,  it  now 
appears  you  need  my  help  ; and  you  come  to 
me,  and  say,  Shylock , lend  me  moneys.  Has 
a dog  money  ? Is  it  possible  a cur  should 
lend  three  thousand  ducats  ? Shall  I bend 
low  and  say,  Fair  sir,  you  spat  upon  me  on 
Wednesday  last,  another  time  you  called  me 
dog,  and  for  these  courtesies  I am  to  lend  you 
moneys  ? ” Anthonio  replied,  “ I am  as  like 
to  call  you  so  again,  to  spit  on  you  again,  and 
spurn  you  too;  If  you  will  lend  me  this  money, 
lend  it  not  to  me  as  to  a friend,  but  rather  lend 
it  to  me  as  to  an  enemy,  that,  if  I break,  you 
may  with  better  face  exact  the  penalty.” 


1 1 6 TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


“ Why,  look  you,”  said  Shylock,  “how  you 
storm  ! I would  be  friends  with  you,  and  have 
your  love.  I will  forget  the  shames  you  have 
put  upon  me.  I will  supply  your  wants,  and 
take  no  interest  for  my  money.”  This  seem- 
ingly kind  offer  greatly  surprised  Anthonio  ; 
and  then  Shylock,  still  pretending  kindness, 
and  that  all  he  did  was  to  gain  Anthonio’s 
love,  again  said  he  would  lend  him  the  three 
thousand  ducats,  and  take  no  interest  for  his 
money;  only  Anthonio  should  go  with  him  to 
a lawyer,  and  there  sign  in  merry  sport  a bond, 
that  if  he  did  not  repay  the  money  by  a certain 
day,  he  would  forfeit  a pound  of  flesh,  to  be 
cut  off  from  any  part  of  his  body  that  Shylock 
pleased. 

“ Content,”  said  Anthonio  : “ I will  sign  to 
this  bond,  and  say  there  is  much  kindness  in 
the  Jew.” 

Bassanio  said  Anthonio  should  not  sign  to 
such  a bond  for  him  ; and  still  Anthonio  in- 
sisted that  he  would  sign  it,  for  that  before  the 
day  of  payment  came  his  ships  would  return 
laden  with  many  times  the  value  of  the  money. 

Shylock,  hearing  this  debate,  exclaimed, 
“O  father  Abraham,  what  suspicious  people 
these  Christians  are  ! Their  own  hard  dealings 
teach  them  to  suspect  the  thoughts  of  others. 
I pray  you  tell  me  this,  Bassanio  : if  he  should 
break  this  day,  what  should  I gain  by  the 
execution  of  the  forfeiture  ? A pound  of  man’s 
flesh,  taken  from  a man,  is  not  so  estimable, 
nor  profitable  neither,  as  the  flesh  of  mutton 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 117 


or  of  beef.  I say,  to  buy  his  favor  I offer  this 
friendship  : if  he  will  take  it,  so  ; if  not,  adieu. ” 

At  last,  against  the  advice  of  Bassanio,  who, 
notwithstanding  all  the  Jew  had  said  of  his 
kind  intentions,  did  not  like  his  friend  should 
run  the  hazard  of  this  shocking  penalty  for  his 
sake,  Anthonio  signed  the  bond,  thinking  it 
really  was  (as  the  Jew  said)  merely  in  sport. 

The  rich  heiress  that  Bassanio  wished  to 
marry  lived  near  Venice,  at  a place  called  Bel- 
mont : her  name  was  Portia,  and  in  the  graces 
of  her  person  and  her  mind  she  was  nothing 
inferior  to  that  Portia,  of  whom  we  read,  who 
was  Cato’s  daughter,  and  the  wife  of  Brutus. 

Bassanio  being  so  kindly  supplied  with 
money  by  his  friend  Anthonio,  at  the  hazard 
of  his  life,  set  out  for  Belmont  with  a splendid 
train,  and  attended  by  a gentleman  of  the  name 
of  Gratiano. 

Bassanio  proving  successful  in  his  suit, 
Portia  in  a short  time  consented  to  accept  of 
him  for  a husband. 

Bassanio  confessed  to  Portia  that  he  had  no 
fortune,  and  that  his  high  birth  and  noble  an- 
cestry was  all  that  he  could  boast  of ; she,  who 
loved  him  for  his  worthy  qualities,  and  had 
riches  enough  not  to  regard  wealth  in  a hus- 
band, answered  with  a graceful  modesty,  that 
she  would  wish  herself  a thousand  times  more 
fair,  and  ten  thousand  times  more  rich,  to  be 
more  worthy  of  him  ; and  then  the  accomplished 
Portia  prettily  dispraised  herself  and  said 
she  was  an  unlessoned  girl,  unschooled,  un- 


1 1 8 TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


practiced,  yet  not  so  old  but  that  she  could 
learn,  and  that  she  would  commit  her  gentle 
spirit  to  be  directed  and  governed  by  him  in 
all  things ; and  she  said,  “ Myself  and  what  is 
mine,  to  you  and  yours  is  now  converted. 
But  yesterday,  Bassanio,  I was  the  lady  of 
this  fair  mansion,  queen  of  myself,  and  mis- 
tress over  these  servants  ; and  now  this  house, 
these  servants,  and  myself  are  yours,  my  lord ; 
I give  them  with  this  ring ; ” presenting  a ring 
to  Bassanio. 

Bassanio  was  so  overpowered  with  gratitude 
and  wonder  at  the  gracions  manner  in  which 
the  rich  and  noble  Portia  accepted  of  a man 
of  his  humble  fortunes,  that  he  could  not 
express  his  joy  and  reverence  to  the  dear  lady 
who  so  honored  him,  by  anything  but  broken 
words  of  love  and  thankfulness ; and  taking 
the  ring,  he  vowed  never  to  part  with  it. 

Gratiano,  and  Nerissa,  Portia’s  waiting- 
maid,  were  in  attendance  upon  their  lord  and 
lady  when  Portia  so  gracefully  promised  to 
become  the  obedient  wife  of  Bassanio ; and 
wishing  Bassanio  and  the  generous  lady  joy, 
desired  permission  to  be  married  at  the  same 
time. 

“ With  sill  my  heart,  Gratiano,”  said  Bassanio, 
“if  you  can  get  a wife.” 

Gratiano  then  said  that  he  loved  the  lady 
Portia’s  fair  waiting  gentlewoman,  Nerissa, 
and  that  she  had  promised  to  be  his  wife,  if 
her  lady  married  Bassanio.  Portia  asked 
Nerissa  if  this  was  true.  Nerissa  replied, 


THE  MERCHANT  OE  VENICE.  1 19 

“ Madam,  it  is  so,  if  you  approve  of  it.” 
Portia  willingly  consenting,  Bassanio  pleas- 
antly said,  “Then  our  wedding-feast  shall  be 
much  honored  by  your  marriage,  Gratiano.” 
The  happiness  of  these  lovers  was  sadly 
crossed  at  this  moment  by  the  entrance  of  a 
messenger,  who  brought  a letter  from  Anthonio 
containing  fearful  tidings.  When  Bassanio 
read  Anthonio’s  letter,  Portia  feared  it  was  to 
tell  him  of  the  death  of  some  dear  friend,  he 
looked  so  pale  ; and  inquiring  what  was  the 
news  which  had  so  distressed  him,  he  said, 
“ O sweet  Portia,  here  are  a few  of  the  un- 
pleasantest  words  that  ever  blotted  paper  : 
gentle  lady,  when  I first  imparted  my  love  to 
you,  I freely  told  you  all  the  wealth  I had  ran 
in  my  veins ; but  I should  have  told 
you  that  I had  less  than  nothing,  being 
in  debt.”  Bassanio  then  told  Portia  what 
has  been  here  related,  of  his  borrowing  the 
money  of  Anthonio,  and  of  Anthonio’s  procur- 
ing it  of  Shylock  the  Jew,  and  of  the  bond  by 
which  Anthonio  had  engaged  to  forfeit  a pound 
of  flesh,  if  it  was  not  repaid  by  a certain  day  ; 
and  then  Bassanio  read  Anthonio’s  letter ; the 
words  of  which  were,  “ Sweet  Bassanio,  my 
ships  are  all  lost,  my  bond  to  the  Jew  is  for- 
feited, and  since  in  paying  it  is  impossible  I 
should  live,  I could  wish  to  see  you  at  my 
death ; notwithstanding,  use  your  pleasure  ; if 
your  love  for  me  do  not  persuade  you  to  come, 
let  not  my  letter.”  “ Oh  my  dear  love,”  said 
Portia,  “ dispatch  the  business  and  be  gone ; 


120 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


you  shall  have  gold  to  pay  the  money  twenty 
times  over,  before  this  kind  friend  shall  lose  a 
hair  by  my  Bassanio’s  fault ; and  as  you  are 
so  dearly  bought,  I will  dearly  love  you.” 
Portia  then  said  she  would  be  married  to 
Bassanio  before  he  set  out,  to  give  him  a legal 
right  to  her  money  ; and  that  same  day  they 
were  married,  and  Gratiano  was  also  married  to 
Nerissa;  and  Bassanio  and  Gratiano,  the 
instant  they  were  married,  set  out  in  great  haste 
for  Venice,  where  Bassanio  found  Anthonio  in 
prison. 

The  day  of  payment  being  past,  the  cruel 
Jew  would  not  accept  of  the  money  which 
Bassanio  offered  him,  but  insisted  upon  hav- 
ing a pound  of  Anthonio’s  flesh.  A day  was 
appointed  to  try  this  shocking  cause  before  the 
duke  of  Venice,  and  Bassanio  awaited  in 
dreadful  suspense  the  event  of  the  trial. 

When  Portia  parted  with  her  husband,  she 
spoke  cheeringly  to  him,  and  bade  him  bring 
his  dear  friend  along  with  him  when  he  re- 
turned ; yet  she  feared  it  would  go  hard  with 
Anthonio,  and  when  she  was  left  alone,  she 
began  to  think  and  consider  within  herself,  if 
she  could  by  any  means  be  instrumental  in 
saving  the  life  of  her  dear  Bassanio’s  friend 
and  notwithstanding,  when  she  wished  to 
honor  her  Bassanio,  she  had  said  to  him  with 
such  a meek  and  wife-like  grace,  that  she 
would  submit  in  all  things  to  be  governed  by 
his  superior  wisdom,  yet  being  now  called 
forth  into  action  by  the  peril  of  her  honored 


THE  MERCHANT  OE  VENICE . 12  I 


husband’s  friend,  she  did  nothing  doubt  her. 
own  powers,  and  by  the  sole  guidance  of  her 
own  true  and  perfect  judgment,  at  once  re- 
solved to  go  herself  to  Venice,  and  speak  in 
Anthonio’s  defense. 

Portia  had  a relation  who  was  a counselor 
in  the  law  ; to  this  gentleman,  whose  name 
was  Bellario,  she  wrote,  and  stating  the  case  to 
him,  desired  his  opinion,  and  that  with  his 
advice  he  would  also  send  her  the  dress  worn 
by  a counselor.  When  the  messenger  re- 
turned, he  brought  letters  from  Bellario  of 
advice  how  to  proceed,  and  also  everything 
necessary  for  her  equipment. 

Portia  dressed  herself  and  her  maid  Nerissa 
in  men’s  apparel,  and  putting  on  the  robes  of 
a counselor,  she  took  Nerissa  along  with  her 
as  her  clerk ; and  setting  out  immediately, 
they  arrived  at  Venice  on  the  very  day  of  the 
trial.  The  cause  was  just  going  to  be  heard 
before  the  duke  and  senators  of  Venice  in  the 
senate-house,  when  Portia  entered  this  high 
court  of  justice,  and  presented  a letter  from 
Bellario,  in  which  that  learned  counselor 
wrote  to  the  duke,  saying  he  would  have  come 
himself  to  plead  for  Anthonio,  but  that  he  was 
prevented  by  sickness,  and  he  requested  that 
the  learned  young  doctor  Balthasar  (so  he 
called  Portia)  might  be  permitted  to  plead  in 
his  stead.  This  the  duke  granted,  much 
wondering  at  the  youthful  appearance  of  the 
stranger,  who  was  prettily  disguised  by  her 
counselor’s  robes  and  her  large  wig. 


122 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


And  now  began  this  important  trial.  Portia 
looked  around  her,  and  she  saw  the  merciless 
Jew,  and  she  saw  Bassanio,  but  he  knew  her 
not  in  her  disguise.  He  was  standing  beside 
Anthonio,  in  an  agony  of  distress  and  fear  for 
his  friend. 

The  importance  of  the  arduous  task  Portia 
had  engaged  in  gave  this  tender  lady  courage, 
and  she  boldly  proceeded  in  the  duty  she  had 
undertaken  to  perform  ; and  first  of  all  she 
addressed  herself  to  Shylock  ; and'  allowing 
that  he  had  a right  by  the  Venetian  law  to 
have  the  forfeit  expresed  in  the  bond,  she 
spoke  so  sweetly  of  the  noble  quality  of  mercy 
as  would  have  softened  any  heart  but  the  un- 
feeling Shylock’s ; saying,  that  it  dropped  as 
the  gentle  rain  from  heaven  upon  the  place 
beneath  ; and  how  mercy  was  a double  bless- 
ing, it  blessed  him  that  gave,  and  him  that 
received  it;  and  how  it  became  monarchs 
better  than  their  crowns,  being  an  attribute  of 
God  himself ; and  that  earthly  power  came 
nearest  to  God’s  in  proportion  as  mercy  tem- 
pered justice  : and  she  bid  Shylock  remember 
that  as  we  all  pray  for  mercy,  that  same  prayer 
should  teach  us  to  show  mercy.  Shylock  only 
answered  her  by  desiring  to  have  the  penalty 
forfeited  in  the  bond.  “ Is  he  not  able  to  pay  the 
money  ? ” asked  Portia.  Bassanio  then  offered 
the  Jew  the  payment  of  the  three  thousand 
ducats  as  many  times  over  as  he  should  desire  ; 
which  Shylock  refusing,  and  still  insisting  upon 
having  a pound  of  Anthonio’s  flesh,  Bassanio 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  123 

begged  the  learned  young  counselor  would 
endeavor  to  wrest  the  law  a little,  to  save 
Anthonio’s  life.  But  Portia  gravely  answered, 
that  laws  once  established  must  never  be 
altered.  Shylock  hearing  Portia  say  that 
the  law  might  not  be  altered,  it  seemed  to  him 
that  she  was  pleading  in  his  favor,  and  he 
said,  “ A Daniel  is  come  to  judgment ! O wise 
young  judge,  how  I do  honor  you ! How 
much  elder  are  you  than  your  looks  ! ” 

Portia  now  desired  Shylock  to  let  her  look 
at  the  bond  ; and  when  she  had  read  it,  she 
said,  “ This  bond  is  forfeited,  and  by  this  the 
Jew  may  lawfully  claim  a pound  of  flesh,  to  be 
by  him  cut  off  nearest  Anthonio’s  heart.” 
Then  she  said  to  Shylock,  “ Be  merciful ; take 
the  money,  and  bid  me  tear  the  bond.”  But 
ho  mercy  would  the  cruel  Shylock  show  : and 
he  said,  “ By  my  soul  I swear  there  is  no  power 
in  the  tongue  of  man  to  alter  me.”  “Why, 
then,  Anthonio,”  said  Portia,  “ you  must  pre- 
pare your  bosom  for  the  knife  ; ” and  while 
Shylock  was  sharpening  a long  knife  with 
great  eagerness  to  cut  off  the  pound  of  flesh, 
Portia  said  to  Anthonio,  “ Have  you  anything 
to  say  ? ” Anthonio  with  a calm  resignation 
replied,  that  he  had  but  little  to  say,  for  that 
he  had  prepared  his  mind  for  death.  Then  he 
said  to  Bassanio,  “ Give  me  your  hand,  Bas- 
sanio  ! Fare  you  well ! Grieve  not  that  I am 
fallen  into  this  misfortune  for  you  ! ” Com- 
mend me  to  your  honorable  wife,  and  tell 
her  how  I have  loved  you  ! ” Bassanio  in  the 


124 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


deepest  affliction  replied,  “ Anthonio,  I am 
married  to  a wife  who  is  as  dear  to  me  as  life 
itself ; but  life  itself,  my  wife,  and  all  the 
world,  are  not  esteemed  with  me  above  your 
life  : I would  lose  all,  I would  sacrifice  all  to 
this  devil  here,  to  deliver  you.” 

Portia  hearing  this,  though  the  kind-hearted 
lady  was  not  at  all  offended  with  her  husband 
for  expressing  the  love  he  owed  to  so  true  a 
friend  as  Anthonio  in  these  strong  terms,  yet 
could  not  help  answering,  “ Your  wife  would 
give  you  little  thanks  if  she  were  present  to 
hear  you  make  this  offer.”  And  then  Gratiano, 
who  loved  to  copy  what  his  lord  did,  thought 
he  must  make  a speech  like  Bassanio’s,  and  he 
said,  in  Nerissa’s  hearing,  who  was  writing  in 
her  clerk’s  dress  by  the  side  of  Portia,  “ I have 
a wife,  whom  I protest  I love  ; I wish  she  were 
in  heaven,  if  she  could  but  entreat  some  power 
there  to  change  the  cruel  temper  of  this  currish 
Jew.”  “ It  is  well  you  wish  this  behind  her 
back,  else  you  would  have  but  an  unquiet 
house,”  said  Nerissa. 

Shylock  now  cried  out  impatiently,  “ We 
trifle  time  ; I pray  pronounce  the  sentence.” 
And  now  all  was  awful  expectation  in  the 
court,  and  every  heart  was  full  of  grief  for 
Anthonio. 

Portia  asked  if  the  scales  were  ready  to 
weigh  the  flesh  ; and  she  said  to  the  Jew, 
“ Shylock,  you  must  have  some  surgeon  by, 
lest  he  bleed  to  death.”  Shylock,  whose  whole 
intent  was  that  Anthonio  should  bleed  to 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE,  125 

death,  said,  “ It  is  not  so  named  in  the  bond.” 
Portia  replied,  “ It  is  not  so  named  in  the 
bond,  but  what  of  that  ? It  were  good  you 
did  so  much  for  charity.”  To  this  all  the 
answer  Shylock  would  make  was,  “ I cannot 
find  it ; it  is  not  in  the  bond.”  “ Then,”  said 
Portia,  “ a pound  of  Anthonio’s  flesh  is  thine. 
The  law  allows  it,  and  the  court  awards  it. 
And  you  may  cut  this  flesh  from  off  his  breast. 
The  law  allows  it,  and  the  court  awards  it.” 
Again  Shylock  exclaimed,  “ O wise  and  upright 
judge  ! A Daniel  is  come  to  judgment  ! ” 
And  then  he  sharpened  his  long  knife  again, 
and  looking  eagerly  on  Anthonio,  he  said, 
“ Come,  prepare  ! ” 

“ Tarry  a little,  Jew,”  said  Portia  ; “ there 
is  something  else.  This  bond  here  gives  you 
no  drop  of  blood  ; the  words  expressly  are,  ‘ a 
pound  of  flesh. ’ If  in  the  cutting  off  the 
pound  of  flesh  you  shed  one  drop  of  Christian 
blood,  your  land  and  goods  are  by  the  law  to 
be  confiscated  to  the  state  of  Venice.”  Now 
as  it  was  utterly  impossible  for  Shylock  to 
cut  off  the  pound  of  flesh  without  shedding 
some  of  Anthonio’s  blood,  this  wise  discovery 
of  Pgrtia’s,  that  it  was  flesh  and  not  blood  that 
was  named  in  the  bond,  saved  the  live  of 
Anthonio ; and  all  admiring  the  wonderful 
sagacity  of  the  young  counselor  who  had  so 
happily  thought  of  this  expedient,  plaudits 
resounding  from  every  part  of  the  senate- 
house  ; and  Gratiano  exclaimed,  in  the  words 
which  Shylock  had  used,  “ O wise  and  upright 


126 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


judge  ! mark,  Jew,  a Daniel  is  come  to  judg- 
ment ! ” 

Shylock,  finding  himself  defeated  in  his 
cruel  intent,  said  with  a disappointed  look, 
that  he  would  take  the  money  ; and  Bassanio, 
rejoiced  beyond  measure  at  Anthonio’s  unex- 
pected deliverance,  cried  out,  “ Here  is  the 
money ! ” But  Portia  stopped  him,  saying, 
u Softly;  there  is  no  haste  ; the  Jew  shall  "have 
nothing  but  the  penalty:  therefore  prepare, 
Shylock,  to  cut  off  the  flesh ; but  mind  you 
shed  no  blood ; nor  do  not  cut  off  more  nor 
less  than  just  a pound  ; be  it  more  or  less  by 
one  poor  scruple,  nay,  if  the  scale  turn  but  by 
the  weight  of  a single  hair,  you  are  condemned 
by  the  laws  of  Venice  to  die,  and  all  your 
wealth  is  forfeited  to  the  senate.”  “ Give  me 
my  money,  and  let  me  go,”  said  Shylock.” 
4 4 1 have  it  ready,”  said  Bassanio  : “ here  it  is.” 

Shylock  was  going  to  take  the  money,  when 
Portia  again  stopped  him,  saying,  “ Tarry,  Jew  ; 
I have  yet  another  hold  upon  you.  By  the 
laws  of  Venice,  your  wealth  is  forfeited  to  the 
state,  for  having  conspired  against  the  life  of 
one  of  its  citizens,  and  your  life  lies  at  the 
mercy  of  the  duke ; therefore  down  on  jour 
knees,  and  ask  him  to  pardon  you.” 

The  duke  then  said  to  Shylock,  “That  you 
may  see  the  difference  of  our  Christian  spirit, 
I pardon  you  your  life  before  you  ask  it  : half 
your  wealth  belongs  to  Anthonio,  the  other 
half  comes  to  the  state.” 

The  generous  Anthonio  then  said  that  he 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE.  127 

would  give  up  his  share  of  Shylock’s  wealth,  if 
Shylock  would  sign  a deed  to  make  it  over  at 
his  death  to  his  daughter  and  her  husband  ; 
for  Anthonio  knew  that  the  Jew  had  an  only 
daughter,  who  had  lately  married  against  his 
consent  to  a young  Christian,  named  Lorenzo, 
a friend  of  Anthonio’s,  which  had  so  offended 
Shylock  that  he  had  disinherited  her. 

The  Jew  agreed  to  this : and  being  thus 
disappointed  in  his  revenge,  and  despoiled  of 
his  riches,  he  said,  “ I am  ill.  Let  me  go 
home : send  the  deed  after  me,  and  I will  sign 
over  half  my  riches  to  my  daughter. ” “ Get 

thee  gone  then/’  said  the  duke,  “ and  sign  it; 
and  if  you  repent  your  cruelty  and  turn  Chris- 
tian, the  state  will  forgive  you  the  fine  of  the 
other  half  of  your  riches.” 

The  duke  now  released  Anthonio,  and  dis- 
missed the  court.  He  then  highly  praised  the 
wisdom  and  ingenuity  of  the  young  counselor, 
and  invited  him  home  to  dinner.  Portia,  who 
meant  to  return  to  Belmont  before  her  husband, 
replied,  “ I humbly  thank  your  grace,  but  I 
must  away  directly.”  The  duke  said  he  was 
sorry  he  had  not  leisure  to  stay  and  dine  with 
him ; and  turning  to  Anthonio,  he  added, 
“ Reward  this  gentleman ; for  in  my  mind  you 
are  much  indebted  to  him.” 

The  duke  and  his  senators  left  the  court ; 
and  then  Bassanio  said  to  Portia,  u Most  worthy 
gentleman,  I and  my  friend  Anthonio  have  by 
your  wisdom  been  this  day  acquitted  of  griev- 
ous penalties,  and  I beg  you  will  accept  of  three 


128  * TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 

thousand  ducats  due  unto  the  Jew.”  “ And 
we  shall  stand  indebted  to  you  over  and  above,” 
said  Anthonio,  “ in  love  and  service  evermore.” 
Portia  could  not  be  prevailed  upon  to  accept 
the  money ; but  upon  Bassanio  still  pressing 
her  to  accept  of  some  reward,  she  said,  “ Give 
me  your  gloves  ; I will  wear  them  for  your 
sake  ; ” and  then  Bassanio  taking  off  his  gloves, 
she  espied  the  ring  which  she  had  given  him 
upon  his  finger  ; now  it  was  the  ring  the  wily 
lady  wanted  to  get  from  him,  to  make  a merry 
jest  when  she  saw  Bassanio  again,  that  made  her 
ask  him  for  his  gloves  ; and  she  said,  when  she 
saw  the  ring,  “ And  for  your  love  I will  take 
this  ring  from  you.”  Bassanio  was  sadly  dis- 
tressed that  the  counselor  should  ask  him  for 
the  only  thing  he  could  not  part  with,  and  he  re- 
plied in  great  confusion,  that  he  could  not  give 
him  that  ring,  because  it  was  his  wife’s  gift, 
and  he  had  vowed  never  to  part  with  it ; but 
that  he  would  give  him  the  most  valuable 
ring  in  Venice,  and  find  it  out  by  proclamation. 
On  this  Portia  affected  to  be  affronted  and  left 
the  court,  saying,  “ You  teach  me,  sir,  how  a 
beggar  should  be  answered.” 

“ Dear  Bassanio,”  said  Anthonio,  “ let  him 
have  the  ring  ; let  my  love  and  the  great  service 
he  has  done  for  me  be  valued  against  your 
wife’s  displeasure.”  Bassanio,  ashamed  to 
appear  so  ungrateful,  yielded,  and  sent  Gra- 
tiano  after  Portia  with  the  ring ; and  then  the 
clerk  Nerissa,  who  had  also  given  Gratiano 
a ring,  she  begged  his  ring,  and  Gratiano 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 129 

(not  choosing  to  be  outdone  in  generosity  by 
his  lord)  gave  it  to  her.  And  there  was  laugh- 
ing among  these  ladies,  to  think,  when  they 
got  home,  how  they  would  tax  their  husbands 
with  giving  away  their  rings,  and  swear  that 
they  had  given  them  as  a present  to  some 
woman. 

Portia,  when  she  returned,  was  in  that  happy 
temper  of  mind  which  never  fails  to  attend  the 
consciousness  of  having  performed  a good 
action  ; her  cheerful  spirit  enjoyed  every  thing 
she  saw ; the  moon  never  seemed  to  shine 
so  bright  before  ; and  when  that  pleasant  moon 
was  hid  behind  a cloud,  then  a light  which  she 
saw  from  her  house  at  Belmont  as  well  pleased 
her  charmed  fancy,  and  she  said  to  Nerissa, 
“ That  light  we  see  is  burning  in  my  hall ; 
how  far  that  little  candle  throws  its  beams,  so 
shines  a good  deed  in  a naughty  world  ; ” and 
hearing  the  sound  of  music  from  her  house, 
“ she  said,  Methinks  that  music  sounds  much 
sweeter  than  by  day.” 

And  now  Portia  and  Nerissa  entered  the 
house,  and  dressing  themselves  in  their  own  ap- 
parel they  awaited  the  arrival  of  their  husbands 
who  soon  followed  them  with  Anthonio  ; and 
Bassanio  presenting  his  dear  friend  to  the  lady 
Portia,  the  congratulations  and  welcomings  of 
that  lady  were  hardly  over,  when  they  perceived 
Nerissa  and  her  husband  quarreling  in  a cor- 
ner of  the  room.  “ A quarrel  already  ? ” said 
Portia.  “ What  is  the  matter  ? ” Gratiano 
replied,  “ Lady,  it  is  about  a paltry  gilt  ring 
9 


130  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


that  Nerissa  gave  me,  with  words  upon  it  like 
the  poetry  on  a cutler’s  knife  : Love  me,  and 
leave  me  not  .” 

“ What  does  the  poetry  or  the  value  of  the 
ring  signify?”  said  Nerissa.  “ You  swore  to 
me  when  I gave  it  to  you,  that  you  would 
keep  it  till  the  hour  of  death  ; and  now  you  say 
you  gave  it  to  the  lawyer’s  clerk.  I know  you 
gave  it  to  a woman.”  “ By  this  hand,”  replied 
Gratiano,  “ I gave  it  to  a youth,  a kind  of  boy 
a little  scrubbed  boy  no  higher  than  yourself : 
he  was  clerk  to  the  young  counselor  that  by  his 
wise  pleading  saved  Anthonio’s  life  : this  prat- 
ing boy  begged  it  for  a fee,  and  I could  not 
for  my  life  deny  him.”  Portia  said,  “ You 
were  to  blame,  Gratiano,  to  part  with  your  wife’s 
first  gift.  I gave  my  lord  Bassanio  a ring,  and 
I am  sure  he  would  not  part  with  it  for  all  the 
world.  Gratiano  in  excuse  for  his  fault  now 
said,  “ My  lord  Bassanio  gave  his  ring  away  to 
the  counselor,  and  then  the  boy,  his  clerk,  that 
took  some  pains  in  writing,  he  begged  my 
ring.” 

Portia,  hearing  this,  seemed  very  angry,  and 
reproached  Bassanio  for  giving  away  her  ring ; 
and  she  said  Nerissa  had  taught  her  what  to 
believe,  ‘and  that  she  knew  some  woman  had 
the  ring.  Bassanio  was  very  unhappy  to  have 
so  offended  his  dear  lady,  and  he  said  with  great 
earnestness,  “ No,  by  my  honor,  no  woman 
had  it,  but  a civil  doctor,  who  refused  three 
thousand  ducats  of  me,  and  begged  the  ring, 
which  when  I denied  him  he  went  displeased 


THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE . 131 


away.  What  could  I do,  sweet  Portia  ? 1 was 

so  beset  with  shame  for  my  seeming  ingratitude 
that  I was  forced  to  send  the  ring  after  him. 
Pardon  me,  good  lady ; had  you  been  there,  I 
think  you  would  have  begged  the  ring  of  me 
to  give  the  worthy  doctor.” 

“ Ah  ! ” said  Anthonio,  “ I am  the  unhappy 
cause  of  these  quarrels.” 

Portia  bid  Anthonio  not  to  grieve  at  that,  for 
that  he  was  welcome  notwithstanding ; and  then 
Anthonio  said,  “ I once  did  lend  my  body  for 
Bassanio’s  sake ; and  but  for  him  to  whom 
your  husband  gave  the  ring,  I should  have  now 
been  dead.  I dare  be  bound  again,  my  soul 
upon  the  forfeit,  your  lord  will  never  more 
break  his  faith  with  you.”  “ Then  you  shall 
be  his  surety,”  said  Portia ; “ give  him  this 
ring,  and  bid  him  keep  it  better  than  the 
other.” 

When  Bassanio  looked  at  this  ring,  he  was 
strangely  surprised  to  find  it  was  the  same  he 
gave  away ; and  then  Portia  told  him  how  she 
was  the  young  counselor,  and  Nerissa  was 
her  clerk  ; and  Bassanio  found,  to  his  unspeak- 
able wonder  and  delight,  that  it  was  by  the 
noble  courage  and  wisdom  of  his  wife  that  An- 
thonio’s  life  was  saved. 

And  Portia  again  welcomed  Anthonio,  and 
gave  him  letters  which  by  some  chance  had 
fallen  into  her  hands,  which  contained  an 
account  of  Anthonio’s  ships,  that  were  supposed 
lost,  being  safely  arrived  in  the  harbor.  So 
these  tragical  beginnings  of  this  rich  merchant’s 


i32 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


story  were  all  forgotten  in  the  unexpected 
good  fortune  which  ensued  ; and  there  was 
leisure  to  laugh  at  the  comical  adventure  of 
the  rings,  and  the  husbands  that  did  not  know 
their  own  wives  ; Gratiano  merrily  swearing  in 
a sort  of  rhyming  speech,  that 

while  he  lived,  he’d  fear  no  other  thing, 

So  sore,  as  keeping  safe  Nerissa’s  ring. 


THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 

The  states  of  Syracuse  and  Ephesus  being 
at  variance,  there  was  a cruel  law  made  at 
Ephesus,  ordaining  that  if  any  merchant  of 
Syracuse  was  seen  in  the  city  of  Ephesus,  he 
was  to  be  put  to  death,  unless  he  could  pay  a 
thousand  marks  for  the  ransom  of  his  life. 

HCgeon,  an  old  merchant  of  Syracuse,  was 
discovered  in  the  streets  of  Ephesus,  and 
brought  before  the  duke,  either  to  pay  this 
heavy  fine,  or  to  receive  sentence  of  death. 

^Egeon  had  no  money  to  pay  the  fine,  and 
the  duke,  before  he  pronounced  the  sentence 
of  death  upon  him,  desired  him  to  relate  the 
history  of  his  life,  and  to  tell  for  what  cause 
he  had  ventured  to  come  to  the  city  of  Ephe- 
sus, which  it  was  death  for  any  Syracusan 
merchant  to  enter. 

yEgeon  said,  that  he  did  not  fear  to  die,  for 
sorrow  had  made  him  weary  of  his  life,  but 
that  a heavier  task  could  not  have  been  im- 
posed upon  him  than  to  relate  the  events  of 
his  unfortunate  life.  He  then  began  his  own 
history  in  the  following  words  : — 

“ I was  born  at  Syracuse,  and  brought  up 
to  the  profession  of  a merchant.  I married  a 
lady  with  whom  I lived  very  happily,  but  being 

*33 


134 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


obliged  to  go  to  Epidamnium,  I was  detained 
there  by  my  business  six  months,  and  then, 
finding  I should  be  obliged  to  stay  some  time 
longer,  I sent  for  my  wife,  who,  as  soon  as 
she  arrived,  was  brought  to  bed  of  two  sons, 
and,  what  was  very  strange,  they  were  both  so 
exactly  alike,  that  it  was  impossible  to  distin- 
guish the  one  from  the  other.  At  the  same 
time  that  my  wife  was  brought  to  bed  of  these 
twin  boys,  a poor  woman  in  the  inn  where  my 
wife  lodged  was  brought  to  bed  of  two  sons, 
and  these  twins  were  as  much  like  each  other 
as  my  two  sons  were.  The  parents  of  these 
children  being  exceeding  poor,  I bought  the 
two  boys,  and  brought  them  up  to  attend  upon 
my  sons. 

“ My  sons  were  very  fine  children,  and  my 
wife  was  not  a little  proud  of  two  such  boys  : 
and  she  daily  wishing  to  return  home,  I un- 
willingly agreed,  and  in  an  evil  hour  we  got 
on  shipboard ; for  we  had  not  sailed  above  a 
league  from  Epidamnium  before  a dreadful 
storm  arose,  which  continued  with  such  vio- 
lence, that  the  sailors,  seeing  no  chance  of  sav- 
ing the  ship,  crowded  into  the  boat  to  save 
their  own  lives,  leaving  us  alone  in  the  ship, 
which  we  every  moment  expected  would  be 
destroyed  by  the  fury  of  the  storm. 

“ The  incessant  weeping  of  my  wife,  and  the 
piteous  complaints  of  the  pretty  babes,  who 
not  knowing  what  to  fear,  wept  for  fashion,  be- 
cause they  saw  their  mother  weep,  filled  me 
with  terror  for  them,  though  I did  not  for  my- 


THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS . 


*35 


self  fear  death  ; and  all  my  thoughts  were  bent 
to  contrive  means  for  their  safety  ; I tied  my 
youngest  son  to  the  end  of  a small  spare  mast, 
such  as  seafaring  men  provide  against  storms ; 
at  the  other  end  I bound  the  youngest  of  the 
twin  slaves,  and  at  the  same  time  I directed  my 
wife  how  to  fasten  the  other  children  in  like 
manner  to  another  mast.  She  thus  having  the 
care  of  the  two  eldest  children  and  I of  the 
two  younger,  we  bound  ourselves  separately  to 
these  masts  with  the  children  ; and  but  for 
this  contrivance  we  had  all  been  lost,  for  the 
ship  split  on  a mighty  rock  and  was  dashed  in 
pieces,  and  we  clinging  to  these  slender  masts 
were  supported  above  the  water,  where  I,  hav- 
ing the  care  of  two  children,  was  unable  to 
assist  my  wife,  who  with  the  other  children 
was  soon  separated  from  me  ; but  while  they 
were  yet  in  my  sight,  they  were  taken  up  by  a 
boat  of  fishermen,  from  Corinth  (as  I supposed), 
and  seeing  them  in  safety,  I had  no  care  but 
to  struggle  with  the  wild  sea- waves,  to  preserve 
my  dear  son  and  the  youngest  slave.  At 
length  we  in  our  turn  were  taken  up  by  a ship, 
and  the  sailors,  knowing  me,  gave  us  kind  wel- 
come and  assistance,  and  landed  us  in  safety 
at  Syracuse  ; but  from  that  sad  hour  I have 
never  known  what  became  of  my  wife  and, 
eldest  child. 

“ My  youngest  son,  and  now  my  only  care, 
when  he  was  eighteen  years  of  age,  began  to 
be  inquisitive  after  his  mother  and  his  brother, 
and  often  importuned  me  that  he  might  take 


136  TALES  FR  OM  SHA  KSPEA  RE . 

his  attendant,  the  young  slave,  who  had  also  lost 
his  brother,  and  go  in  search  of  them  : at  length 
I unwillingly  gave  consent,  for  though  I anx- 
iously desired  to  hear  tidings  of  my  wife  and 
eldest  son,  yet  in  sending  my  younger  one  to 
find  them,  I hazarded  the  loss  of  him  also. 
It  is  now  seven  years  since  my  son  left  me ; 
five  years  have  I passed  in  traveling  through  the 
world  in  search  of  him  : I have  been  in  farthest 
Greece,  and  through  the  bounds  of  Asia,  and 
coasting  homewards,  I landed  here  in  Ephesus, 
being  unwilling  to  leave  any  place  unsought 
that  harbors  men  ; but  this  day  must  end  the 
story  of  my  life,  and  happy  should  I think 
myself  in  my  death,  if  I were  assured  my  wife 
and  sons  were  living.” 

Here  the  hapless  ^Egeon  ended  the  account 
of  his  misfortunes  ; and  the  duke,  pitying  this 
unfortunate  father,  who  had  brought  upon 
himself  this  great  peril  by  his  love  for  his  lost 
son,  said,  if  it  were  not  against  the  laws,  which 
his  oath  and  dignity  did  not  permit  him  to 
alter,  he  would  freely  pardon  him  ; yet,  instead 
of  dooming  him  to  instant  death,  as  the  strict 
letter  of  the  law  required,  he  would  give  him 
that  day,  to  try  if  he  could  beg  or  borrow  the 
money  to  pay  the  fine. 

This  day  of  grace  did  seem  no  great  favor 
to  Aigeon,  for  not  knowing  any  man  in  Ephe- 
sus, there  seemed  to  him  but  little  chance  that 
any  stranger  would  lend  or  give  him  a thou- 
sand marks  to  pay  the  fine  : and  helpless,  and 
hopeless  of  any  relief,  he  retired  from  the 


THE  COMEDY  OE  ERRORS \ 


J37 


presence  of  the  duke  in  the  custody  of  a jailor. 

^Egeon  supposed  he  knew  no  person  in 
Ephesus  ; but  at  the  very  time  he  was  in  danger 
of  losing  his  life  through  the  careful  search  he 
was  making  after  his  youngest  son,  that  son 
and  his  eldest  son  also  were  both  in  the  city 
of  Ephesus. 

iEgeon’s  sons,  besides  being  exactly  alike 
in  face  and  person,  were  both  named  alike, 
being  both  called  Antipholis,  and  the  two  twin 
slaves  were  also  both  named  Dromio.  ^Egeon’s 
youngest  son  Antipholis  of  Syracuse,  he  whom 
the  old  man  had  come  to  Ephesus  to  seek, 
happened  to  arrive  at  Ephesus  with  his  slave 
Dromio,  that  very  same  day  that  /Egeon  did; 
and  he  being  also  a merchant  of  Syracuse,  he 
would  have  been  in  the  same  danger  that  his 
father  was,  but  by  good  fortune  he  met  a 
friend  who  told  him  the  peril  an  old  merchant 
of  Syracuse  was  in,  and  advised  him  to  pass 
for  a merchant  of  Epidamnium  : this  Antiph- 
oiis  agreed  to  do,  and  he  was  sorry  to  hear 
one  of  his  own  countrymen  was  in  this  danger, 
but  he  little  thought  this  old  merchant  was  his 
own  father. 

The  oldest  son  of  ^Egeon  (who  must  be 
called  Antipholis  of  Ephesus,  to  distinguish 
him  from  his  brother,  Antipholis  of  Syracuse) 
had  lived  at  Ephesus  twenty  years,  and,  being 
a rich  man,  was  well  able  to  have  paid  the 
money  for  the  ransom  of  his  father’s  life  ; but 
Antipholis  knew  nothing  of  his  father,  being 
so  young  when  he  was  taken  out  of  the  sea 


138  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


with  his  mother  by  the  fishermen  that  he  only 
remembered  he  had  been  so  preserved,  but  he 
had  no  recollection  of  either  his  father  or  his 
mother ; the  fishermen,  who  took  up  this 
Antipholis  and  his  mother  and  the  young  slave 
Dromio,  having  carried  the  two  children  away 
from  her  (to  the  great  grief  of  that  unhappy 
lady),  intending  to  sell  them. 

Antipholis  and  Dromio  were  sold  by  them 
to  duke  Menaphon,  a famous  warrior,  who  was 
uncle  to  the  duke  of  Ephesus,  and  he  carried 
the  boys  to  Ephesus  when  he  went  to  visit  the 
duke  his  nephew. 

The  duke  of  Ephesus  taking  a fancy  to 
young  Antipholis,  when  he  grew  up,  made  him 
an  officer  in  his  army,  in  which  he  distinguished 
himself  by  his  great  bravery  in  the  wars,  where 
he  saved  the  life  of  his  patron  the  duke,  who 
rewarded  his  merit  by  marrying  him  to  Adriana, 
a rich  lady  of  Ephesus  ; with  whom  he  was 
living  (his  slave  Dromio  still  attending  him) 
at  the  time  his  father  came  there. 

Antipholis  of  Syracuse,  when  he  parted  with 
his  friend,  who  advised  him  to  say  he  came 
from  Epidamnium,  gave  his  slave  Dromio  some 
money  to  carry  to  the  inn  where  he  intended 
to  dine,  and  in  the  mean  time  he  said  he  would 
walk  about  and  view  the  city,  and  observe  the 
manners  of  the  people. 

Dromio  was  a pleasant  fellow,  and  when 
Antipholis  was  dull  and  melancholy  he  used 
to  divert  himself  with  the  odd  humors  and 
merry  jests  of  his  slave,  so  that  the  freedoms 


THE  CO  MED  Y OF  ERRORS . 


J39 


of  speech  he  allowed  in  Dromio  were  greater 
than  is  usual  between  masters  and  their 
servants 

When  Antipholis  of  Syracuse  had  sent 
Dromio  away,  he  stood  awhile  thinking  over 
his  solitary  wanderings  in  search  of  his  mother 
and  his  brother,  of  whom  in  no  place  where  he 
landed  could  he  hear  the  least  tidings  ; and  he 
said  sorrowfully  to  himself,  “ I am  like  a drop 
of  water  in  the  ocean,  which  seeking  to  find 
its  fellow  drop,  loses  itself  in  the  wide  sea. 
So  I unhappily,  to  find  a mother  and  a brother, 
do  lose  myself.’ 

While  he  was  thus  meditating  on  his  weary 
travels,  which  had  hitherto  been  so  useless, 
Dromio  (as  he  thought)  returned.  Antipholis, 
wondering  that  he  came  back  so  soon,  asked 
him  where  he  had  left  the  money.  Now  it 
was  not  his  own  Dromio,  but  the  twin-brother 
that  lived  with  Antipholis  of  Ephesus,  that  he 
spoke  to.  The  two  Dromios  and  the  two 
Antipholises  were  still  as  much  alike  as  ^Egeon 
had  said  they  were  in  their  infancy ; therefore 
no  wonder  Antipholis  thought  it  was  his  own 
slave  returned,  and  asked  him  why  he  came 
back  so  soon.  Dromio  replied,  “ My  mistress 
sent  me  to  bid  you  come  to  dinner.  The 
capon  burns,  and  the  pig  falls  from  the  spit, 
and  the  meat  will  be  all  cold  if  you  do  not 
come  home.”  “ These  jests  are  out  of  season,” 
said  Antipholis  : “ where  did  you  leave  the 
money  ? ” Dromio  still  answering  that  his 
mistress  had  sent  him  to  fetch  Antipholis  to 


140 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


dinner  : “ What  mistress  ? ” said  Antipholis. 
“ Why,  your  worship’s  wife,  sir,”  replied 
Dromio.  Antipholis  having  no  wife,  he  was 
very  angry  with  Dromio,  and  said,  “ Because 
I familiarly  sometimes  chat  with  you,  you 
presume  to  jest  with  me  in  this  free  manner. 
I am  not  in  a sportive  humor  now:  where  is 
the  money  ? we  being  strangers  here,  how  dare 
you  trust  so  great  a charge  from  your  own 
custody  ? ” Dromio  hearing  his  master,  as  he 
thought  him,  talk  of  their  being  strangers, 
supposing  Antipholis  was  jesting,  replied 
merrily,  “ I pray  you,  sir,  jest  as  you  sit  at 
dinner  : I had  no  charge  but  to  fetch  you 

home  to  dine  with  my  mistress  and  her  sister.” 
Now  Antipholis  lost  all  patience,  and  beat 
Dromio,  who  ran  home,  and  told  his  mistress 
that  his  master  had  refused  to  come  to  dinner, 
and  said  he  had  no  wife. 

Adriana  the  wife  of  Antipholis  of  Ephesus 
was  very  angry  when  she  heard  that  her  hus- 
band said  he  had  no  wife  : for  she  was  of  a 
jealous  temper,  and  she  said  her  husband 
meant  that  he  loved  another  lady  better  than 
herself,  and  she  began  to  fret,  and  say  unkind 
words  of  jealousy  and  reproach  of  her  husband  ; 
and  her  sister  Luciana,  who  lived  with  her, 
tried  in  vain  to  persuade  her  out  of  her  ground- 
less suspicions. 

Antipholis  of  Syracuse  went  to  the  inn,  and 
found  Dromio  with  the  money  in  safety  there, 
and  seeing  his  own  Dromio,  he  was  going 
again  to  chide  him  for  his  free  jests,  when 


THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS.  141 

Adriana  came  up  to  him,  and  not  doubting 
that  it  was  her  husband  she  saw,  she  began  to 
reproach  him  for  looking  strange  upon  her  (as 
well  he  might,  never  having  seen  this  angry 
lady  before) ; and  then  she  told  him  how  well 
he  loved  her  before  they  were  married,  and 
that  now  he  loved  some  other  lady  instead  of 
her.  “ How  comes  it  now,  my  husband,”  said 
she,  “oh  how  comes  it  that  I have  lost  your 
love  ? ” “ Plead  you  to  me,  fair  dame  ? ” said 

the  astonished  Antipholis.  It  was  in  vain  he 
told  her  he  was  not  her  husband,  and  that  he 
had  been  in  Ephesus  but  two  hours ; she  in- 
sisted on  his  going  home  with  her,  and  Anti- 
pholis at  last,  being  unable  to  get  away,  went 
with  her  to  his  brother’s  house,  and  dined  with 
Adriana  and  her  sister,  the  one  calling  him 
husband,  and  the  other,  brother,  he,  all  amazed, 
thinking  he  must  have  been  married  to  her  in 
his  sleep,  or  that  he  was  sleeping  now.  And 
Dromio,  who  followed  them,  was  no  less  sur- 
prised, for  the  cook-maid,  who  was  his  brother’s 
wife,  also  claimed  him  for  her  husband. 

While  Antipholis  of  Syracuse  was  dining 
with  his  brother’s  wife,  his  brother,  the  real 
husband,  returned  home  to  dinner  with  his 
slave  Dromio ; but  the  servants  would  not 
open  the  door,  because  their  mistress  had 
ordered  them  not  to  admit  any  company  ; and 
when  they  repeatedly  knocked,  and  said  they 
were  Antipholis  and  Dromio,  the  maids  laughed 
at  them,  and  said  that  Antipholis  was  at  dinner 
with  their  mistress,  and  Dromio  was  in  the 


142  TALES  FROM  SHA  KS PE  A RE. 

kitchen  ; and  though  they  almost  knocked  the 
door  down,  they  could  not  gain  admittance, 
and  at  last  Antipholis  went  away  very  angry, 
and  strangely  surprised  at  hearing  a gentleman 
was  dining  with  his  wife. 

When  Antipholis  of  Syracuse  had  finished 
his  dinner,  he  was  so  perplexed  at  the  lady’s 
still  persisting  in  calling  him  husband,  and  at 
hearing  that  Dromio  had  also  been  claimed  by 
the  cook-maid,  that  he  left  the  house,  as  soon 
as  he  could  find  any  pretense  to  get  away  ; for 
though  he  was  very  much  pleased  with  Luciana 
the  sister,  yet  the  jealous-tempered  Adriana 
he  disliked  very  much,  nor  was  Dromio  at  all 
better  satisfied  with  his  fair  wife  in  the  kitchen  ; 
therefore  both  master  and  man  were  glad  to 
get  away  from  their  new  wives  as  fast  as  they 
could. 

The  moment  Antipholis  of  Syracuse  had  left 
the  house,  he  was  met  by  a goldsmith,  who 
mistaking  him,  as  Adriana  had  done,  for  Antiph- 
olis of  Epheus,  gave  him  a gold  chain,  call- 
ing him  by  his  name  ; and  when  Antipholis 
would  have  refused  the  chain,  saying  it  did 
not  belong  to  him,  the  goldsmith  replied  he 
made  it  by  his  own  orders ; and  went  away, 
leaving  the  chain  in  the  hand  of  Antipholis, 
who  ordered  his  man  Dromio  to  get  his  things 
on  board  a ship,  not  choosing  to  stay  in  a place 
any  longer  where  he  met  with  such  strange 
adventures  that  he  surely  thought  himself  be 
witched. 

The  goldsmith  who  had  given  the  chain  to 


THE  CO  MED  Y OF  ERRORS . 


J43 


the  wrong  Antipholis  was  arrested  immediately 
after  for  a sum  of  money  he  owed  ; and  Antiph- 
olis the  married  brother,  to  whom  the  gold- 
smith thought  he  had  given  the  chain,  happened 
to  come  to  the  place  where  the  officer  was 
arresting  the  goldsmith,  who,  when  he  saw 
Antipholis,  asked  him  to  pay  for  the  gold  chain 
he  had  just  delivered  to  him,  the  price  amount- 
ing to  nearly  the  same  sum  as  that  for  which 
he  had  been  arrested.  Antipholis  denying  the 
having  received  the  chain,  and  the  goldsmith 
persisting  to  declare  that  he  had  but  a few 
minutes  before  given  it  to  him,  they  disputed 
the  matter  a longtime,  both  thinking  they  were 
right,  for  Antipholis  knew  the  goldsmith  never 
gave  him  the  chain,  and,  so  like  were  the  two 
brothers,  the  goldsmith  was  as  certain  he  had 
delivered  the  chain  into  his  hands,  till  at  last 
the  officer  took  the  goldsmith  away  to  prison 
for  the  debt  he  owed,  and  at  the  same  time 
the  goldsmith  made  the  officer  arrest  Antipholis 
for  the  pric^  of  the  chain  ; zo  that,  at  the  con- 
clusion of  thj  dispu  Antipholis  and  the  mer- 
chant were  bo  tak  n away  .o  prison  together. 

As  Antipholis  was  going  to  prison,  he  met 
Dromio  f S racuse,  h brother’s  slave,  and 
mistaking  him  for  ‘s  own,  he  ordered  him  to 
go  to  Adriana,  his  wife,  and  tell  her  to  send 
the  money  for  which  he  was  arrested.  Dromio 
wondering  that  his  master  should  send  him 
back  to  the  strange  house  where  he  dined,  and 
from  which  he  had  just  before  been  in  such 
haste  to  depart,  did  not  dare  to  reply,  though 


144 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEA RE. 


he  came  to  tell  his  master  the  ship  was  ready 
to  sail ; for  he  saw  Antipholis  was  in  no  humor 
to  be  jested  with.  Therefore  he  went  away, 
grumbling  within  himself  that  he  must  return 
to  Adriana’s  house,  “ Where,”  said  he,  “ Dow- 
sabel  claims  me  for  a husband  ; but  I must  go, 
for  servants  must  obey  their  masters’  com- 
mands.” 

Adriana  gave  him  the  money,  and  as  Dromio 
was  returning,  he  met  Antipholis  of  Syracuse, 
who  was  still  in  amaze  at  the  surprising  adven- 
tures he  met  with ; for  his  brother  being  well 
known  in  Ephesus,  there  was  hardly  a man  he 
met  in  the  'streets  but  saluted  him  as  an  old 
acquaintance  : some  offered  him  money  which 
they  said  was  owing  to  him,  some  invited  him 
to  come  and  see  them,  and  some  gave  him 
thanks  for  kindnesses  they  said  he  had  done 
them,  all  mistaking  him  for  his  brother.  A 
tailor  showed  him  some  silks  he  had  bought 
for  him,  and  insisted  upon  taking  measure  of 
him  for  some  clothes. 

Antipholis  began  to  think  he  was  among  a 
nation  of  sorcerers  and  witches,  and  Dromio 
did  not  at  all  relieve  his  master  from  his  be- 
wildered thoughts,  by  asking  him  how  he  got 
free  from  the  officer  who  was  carrying  him  to 
prison,  and  giving  him  the  purse  of  gold  which 
Adriana  had  sent  to  pay  the  debt  with.  This 
talk  of  Dromio’s  of  the  arrest,  and  of  a prison, 
and  of  the  money  he  had  brought  from  Adriana, 
perfectly  confounded  Antipholis,  and  he  said, 
“ This  fellow  Dromio  is  certainly  distracted, 


THE  CO  MED  Y OF  ERRORS. 


!45 


and  we  wander  here  in  illusions  ; ” and  quite 
terrified  at  his  own  confused  thoughts,  he  cried 
out,  “ Some  blessed  power  deliver  us  from  this 
strange  place  ! ” 

And  now  another  stranger  came  up  to  him, 
and  she  was  a lady,  and  she  too  called  him 
Antipholis,  and  told  him  he  had  dined  with  her 
that  day,  and  asked  him  for  a gold  chain  which 
she  said  he  had  promised  to  give  her.  Antiph- 
olis now  lost  all  patience,  and  calling  her  a 
sorceress,  he  denied  that  he  had  ever  promised 
her  a chain,  or  dined  with  her,  or  had  ever  seen 
her  face  before  that  moment.  The  lady  per- 
sisted in  affirming  he  had  dined  with  her,  and 
had  promised  her  a chain,  which  Antipholis 
still  denying,  she  farther  said,  that  she  had  given 
him  a valuable  ring,  and  if  he  would  not  give 
her  the  gold  chain,  she  insisted  upon  having 
her  own  ring  again.  On  this  Antipholis 
became  quite  frantic,  and  again  calling  her 
sorceress  and  witch,  and  denying  all  knowl- 
edge of  her  and  her  ring,  ran  away  from  her, 
leaving  her  astonished  at  his  words  and  his 
wild  looks,  tor  nothing  to  her  appeared  more 
certain  than  that  he  had  dined  with  her,  and 
that  she  had  given  him  a ring,  in  consequence 
of  his  promising  to  make  her  a present  of  a 
gold  chain.  But  this  lady  had  fallen  into  the 
same  mistake  the  others  had  done,  for  she 
had  taken  him  for  his  brother  : the  married 
Antipholis  had  done  all  the  things  she  taxed 
this  Antipholis  with. 

When  the  married  Antipholis  was  denied 

io 


146  tales  from  shakspeare . 

entrance  into  his  own  house  (those  within 
supposing  him  to  be  already  there),  he  had  gone 
away  very  angry,  believing  it  to  be  one  of  his 
wife’s  jealous  freaks,  to  which  he  was  very 
subject,  and  remembering  that  she  had  often 
falsely  accused  him  of  visiting  other  ladies,  he 
to  be  revenged  on  her  for  shutting  him  out  of 
his  own  house,  determined  to  go  and  dine  with 
this  lady,  and  she  receiving  him  with  great 
civility,  and  his  wife  having  so  highly  offended 
him,  Antipholis. promised  to  give  her  a gold 
chain,  which  he  had  intended  as  a present  for 
his  wife  ; it  was  the  same  chain  which  the 
goldsmith  by  mistake  had  given  to  his  brother. 
The  lady  liked  so  well  the  thoughts  of  having 
a fine  gold  chain,  that  she  gave  the  married 
Antipholis  a ring  ; which  when,  as  she  sup- 
posed (taking  his  brother  for  him),  he  denied, 
and  said  he  did  not  know  her,  and  left  her  in 
such  a wild  passion,  she  began  to  think  he  was 
certainly  out  of  his  senses  ; and  presently  she 
resolved  to  go  and  tell  Adriana  that  her 
husband  was  mad.  And  while  she  was  telling 
it  to  Adriana,  he  came  attended  by  the  jailor 
(who  allowed  him  to  come  home  to  get  the 
money  to  pay  the  debt),  for  the  purse  of 
money  which  Adriana  had  sent  by  Dromio, 
and  he  had  delivered  to  the  other  Antipholis. 

Adriana  believed  the  story  the  lady  told  her 
of  her  husband’s  madness  must  be  true  when 
he  reproached  her  for  shutting  him  out  of  his 
own  house ; and  remembering  how  he  had 
protested  all  dinner-time  that  he  was  not  her 


THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


147 


husband,  and  had  never  been  in  Ephesus  till 
that  day,  she  had  no  doubt  that  he  was  mad  ; 
she  therefore  paid  the  jailor  the  money,  and 
having  discharged  him,  she  ordered  her 
servants  to  bind  her  husband  with  ropes,  and 
had  him  conveyed  into  a dark  room,  and  sent 
for  a doctor  to  come  and  cure  him  of  his  mad- 
ness : Antipholis  all  the  while  hotly  exclaiming 
against  this  false  accusation,  which  the  exact 
likeness  he  bore  to  his  brother  had  brought 
upon  him.  But  his  rage  only  the  more  con- 
firmed them  in  the  belief  that  he  was  mad  ; and 
Dromio  persisting  in  the  same  story,  they  bound 
him  also,  and  took  him  away  along  with  his 
master. 

Soon  after  Adriana  had  put  her  husband 
into  confinement,  a servant  came  to  tell  her 
that  Antipholis  and  Dromio  must  have  broken 
loose  from  their  keepers,  for  that  they  were 
both  walking  at  liberty  in  the  next  street.  On 
hearing  this,  Adriana  ran  out  to  fetch  him 
home,  taking  some  people  with  her  to  secure 
her  husband  again  ; and  her  sister  went  along 
with  her.  When  they  came  to  the  gates  of  a 
convent  in  their  neighborhood,  there  they 
saw  Antipholis  and  Dromio,  as  they  thought, 
being  again  deceived  by  the  likeness  of  the 
twin-brothers. 

Antipholis  of  Syracuse  was  still  beset  with 
the  perplexities  this  likeness  had  brought 
upon  him.  The  chain  which  the  goldsmith 
had  given  him  was  about  his  neck,  and  the 
goldsmith  was  reproaching  him  for  denying 


148  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 

that  he  had  it,  and  refusing  to  pay  for  it,  and 
Antipholis  was  protesting  that  the  goldsmith 
freely  gave  him  the  chain  in  the  morning,  and 
that  from  that  hour  he  had  never  seen  the 
goldsmith  again. 

And  now  Adriana  came  up  to  him,  and 
claimed  him  as  her  lunatic  husband,  who  had 
escaped  from  his  keepers  ; and  the  men  she 
brought  with  her  were  going  to  lay  violent 
hands  on  Antipholis  and  Dromio  ; but  they 
ran  into  the  convent,  and  Antipholis  begged 
the  abbess  to  give  him  shelter  in  her  house. 

And  now  came  out  the  lady  abbess  herself 
to  inquire  into  the  cause  of  this  disturbance. 
She  was  a grave  and  venerable  lady,  and  wise 
to  judge  of  what  she  saw,  and  she  would  not 
too  hastily  give  up  the  men  who  had  sought 
protection  in  her  house ; so  she  strictly  ques- 
tioned the  wife  about  the  story  she  told  of  her 
husband’s  madness,  and  she  said,  “ What  is 
the  cause  of  this  sudden  distemper  of  your 
husband’s  ? Has  he  lost  his  wealth  at  sea  ? 
Or  is  it  the  death  of  some  dear  friend  that 
has  disturbed  his  mind?”  Adriana  .replied 
that  no  such  things  as  these  had  been  the 
cause.  “ Perhaps,”  said  the  abbess,  “he  has 
fixed  his  affections  on  some  other  lady  than 
you  his  wife  ; and  that  has  driven  him  into 
this  state.”  Adriana  said  she  had  long 
thought  the  love  of  some  other  lady  was  the 
cause  of  his  frequent  absences  from  home. 
Now  it  was  not  his  love  for  another,  but  the 
teasing  jealousy  of  his  wife’s  temper,  that 


THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS . 149 

often  obliged  Antipholis  to  leave  his  home; 
and  (the  abbess  suspecting  this  from  the 
vehemence  of  Adriana’s  manner)  to  learn 
the  truth,  she  said,  “ You  should  have  repre- 
hended him  for  this.”  “ Why,  so  I did,” 
replied  Adriana.  “Ay,”  said  the  abbess, 
“ but  perhaps  not  enough.”  Adriana,  willing 
to  convince  the  abbess  that  she  had  said 
enough  to  Antipholis  on  this  subject  replied, 
“ It  was  the  constant  subject  of  our  conversa- 
tion : in  bed  I would  not  let  him  sleep  for 
speaking  of  it.  At  table  I would  not  let  him 
eat  for  speaking  of  it.  When  I was  alone 
with  him,  I talked  of  nothing  else  ; and  in 
company  I gave  him  frequent  hints  of  it. 
Still  all  my  talk  was  how  vile  and  bad  it  was 
in  him  to  love  any  lady  better  than  me.” 

The  lady  abbess  having  drawn  this  full  con- 
fession from  the  jealous  Adriana,  now  said, 
“ And  therefore  comes  it  that  your  husband  is 
mad.  The  venomous  clamor  of  a jealous  woman 
is  a more  deadly  poison  than  a mad  dog’s  tooth. 
It  seems  his  sleep  was  hindered  by  your  rail- 
ing ; no  wonder  that  his  head  is  light  : and  his 
meat  was  sauced  with  your  upbraidings ; 
unquiet  meals  make  ill  dig  :tions,  and  that  has 
thrown  him  into  thk  f^ver.  You  say  his 
sports  were  disturbed  by  your  brawl  ; being 
debarred  from  the  enjoymen'  of  society  and 
recreation,  what  could  ensue  but  dull  melan- 
choly and  comfortless  despair  ? The  con 
sequence  is,  then,  that  your  jealous  fits  have 
made  your  husband  mad.” 


150  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 

Luciana  would  have  excused  her  sister, 
saying,  she  always  reprehended  her  husband 
mildly ; and  she  said  to  her  sister,  “ Why  do 
you  hear  these  rebukes  without  answering 
them  ? ” But  the  abbess  had  made  her  so 
plainly  perceive  her  fault,  that  she  could  only 
answer,  “ She  has  betrayed  me  to  my  own 
reproof.” 

Adriana,  though  ashamed  of  her  own  con- 
duct, still  insisted  on  having  her  husband 
delivered  up  to  her ; but  the  abbess  would 
suffer  no  person  to  enter  her  house,  nor  would 
she  deliver  up  this  unhappy  man  to  the  care  of 
the  jealous  wife,  determining  herself  to  use 
gentle  means  for  his  recovery,  and  she  retired 
into  her  house  again,  and  ordered  her  gates  to 
be  shut  against  them. 

During  the  course  of  this  eventful  day,  in 
which  so  many  errors  had  happened  from  the 
likeness  the  twin-brothers  bore  to  each  other, 
old  ^Egeon’s  day  of  grace  was  passing  away, 
it  being  now  near  sunset ; and  at  sunset  he 
was  doomed  to  die  if  he  could  not  pay  the 
money. 

The  place  of  his  execution  was  near  this 
convent,  and  here  he  arrived  just  as  the  abbess 
retired  into  the  convent ; the  duke  attending 
in  person,  that  if  any  offered  to  pay  the  money 
he  might  be  present  to  pardon  him. 

Adriana  stopped  this  melancholy  procession, 
and  cried  out  to  the  duke  for  justice,  telling 
him  that  the  abbess  had  refused  to  deliver  up 
her  lunatic  husband  to  her  care.  While  she 


THE  CO  MED  Y OF  ERR  ORS.  1 5 1 

was  speaking  her  real  husband  and  his  servant 
Dromio,  who  had  got  loose,  came  before 
the  duke  to  demand  justice,  complaining  that 
his  wife  had  confined  him  on  a false  charge  of 
lunacy ; and  telling  in  what  manner  he  had 
broken  his  bands,  and  eluded  the  vigilance  of 
his  keepers.  Adriana  was  strangely  surprised 
to  see  her  husband,  when  she  thought  he  had 
been  within  the  convent. 

^Egeon,  seeing  his  son,  concluded  this  was 
the  son  who  had  left  him  to  go  in  search  of 
his  mother  and  his  brother  ; and  he  felt  secure 
that  this  dear  son  would  readily  pay  the  money 
demanded  for  his  ransom.  He  therefore  spoke 
to  Antipholis  in  words  of  fatherly  affection, 
with  joyful  hope  that  he  should  now  be  released. 
But  to  the  utter  astonishment  of  Higeon  his 
son  denied  all  knowledge  of  him,  as  well  he 
might,  for  this  Antipholis  had  never  seen  his 
father  since  they  were  separated  in  the  storm 
in  his  infancy  ; but  while  the  poor  old  ^Egeon 
was  in  vain  endeavoring  to  make  his  son 
acknowledge  him,  thinking  surely  that  either 
his  griefs  and  the  anxieties  he  had  suffered 
had  so  strangely  altered  him  that  his  son  did 
not  know  him,  or  else  that  he  was  ashamed  to 
acknowledge  his  father  in  his  misery  in  the 
midst  of  this  perplexity  the  lady  abbess  and 
the  other  Antipholis  and  Dromio  came  out, 
and  the  wondering  Adriana  saw  two  husbands 
and  two  Dromios  standing  before  her. 

And  now  these  riddling  errors,  which  had 
so  perplexed  them  all,  were  clearly  made  out. 


1 5 2 TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 

When  the  duke  saw  the  two  Antipholises  and 
the  two  Dromios  both  so  exactly  alike,  he  at 
once  conjectured  aright  of  these  seeming  mys- 
teries, for  he  remembered  the  story  Egeon 
had  told  him  in  the  morning  ; and  he  said, 
these  men  must  be  the  two  sons  of  Egeon  and 
their  twin  slaves. 

But  now  an  unlooked-for  joy  indeed  com- 
pleted the  history  of  Egeon  ; and  the  tale  he 
had  in  the  morning  told  in  sorrow,  and  under 
sentence  of  death,  before  the  setting  sun  went 
down  was  brought  to  a happy  conclusion,  for 
the  venerable  lady  abbess  made  herself  known 
to  be  the  long-lost  wife  of  Egeon,  and  the  fond 
mother  of  the  .two  Antipholises. 

When  the  fishermen  took  the  eldest 
Antipholis  and  Dromio  away  from  her,  she 
entered  a nunnery,  and  by  her  wise  and 
virtuous  conduct  she  was  at  length  made  lady 
abbess  of  this  convent,  and  in  discharging  the 
rights  of  hospitality  to  an  unhappy  stranger 
she  had  unknowingly  protected  her  own  son. 

Joyful  congratulations  and  affectionate 
greetings  between  these  long-separated  parents 
and  their  children  made  them  for  a while  forget 
that  Egeon  was  yet  under  sentence  of  death ; 
but  when  they  were  become  a little  calm, 
Antipholis  of  Ephesus  offered  the  duke  the 
ransom  money  for  his  father’s  life  ; but  the 
duke  freely  pardoned  Egeon,  and  would  not 
take  the  money.  And  the  duke  went  with  the 
abbess  and  her  newly-found  husband  and 
children  into  the  convent,  to  hear  this  happy 


THE  COMEDY  OF  ERRORS, . 153 

family  discourse  at  leisure  of  the  blessed  end- 
ing of  their  adverse  fortunes.  And  the  two 
Dromios’  humble  joy  must  not  be  forgotten  ; 
they  had  their  congratulations  and  greetings 
too,  and  each  Dromio  pleasantly  complimented 
his  brother  on  his  good  looks,  being  well 
pleased  to  see  his  own  person  (as  in  a glass) 
show  so  handsome  in  his  brother. 

Adriana  had  so  well  profited  by  the  good 
counsel  of  her  mother-in-law,  that  she  never 
after  cherished  unjust  suspicions,  or  was 
jealous  f her  husband. 

Antipholis  of  Syracuse  married  the  fair 
Luciana,  the  sister  of  his  brother’s  wife  ; and 
the  good  old  JEgeon,  with  his  wife  and  sons, 
lived  at  Ephesus  many  years.  Nor  did  the 
unraveling  of  these  perplexities  so  entirely 
remove  every  ground  of  mistake  for  the  future, 
but  that  sometimes,  to  remind  them  of  advent- 
ures past,  comical  blunders  would  happen, 
and  the  one  Antipholis,  and  the  one  Dromio, 
be  mistaken  for  the  other,  making  altogether  a 
pleasant  and  diverting  Comedy  of  Errors. 


HAMLET,  PRINCE  OF  DENMARK. 


Gertrude,  queen  of  Denmark,  becoming  a 
widow  by  the  sudden  death  of  king  Hamlet, 
in  less  than  two  months  after  his  death  married 
his  brother  Claudius,  which  was  noted  by  all 
people  at  the  time  for  a strange  act  of  in- 
discretion, or  unfeelingness,  or  worse  : for  this 
Claudius  did  noways  resemble  her  late  husband 
in  the  qualities  of  his  person  or  his  mind,  but  was 
as  contemptible  in  outward  appearance  as  he 
was  base  and  unworthy  in  disposition  ; and  sus- 
picions did  not  fail  to  arise  in  the  minds  of  some 
that  he  had  privately  made  away  with  his 
brother,  the  late  king,  with  the  view  of  marrying 
his  widow,  and  ascending  the  throne  of  Den- 
mark, to  the  exclusion  of  young  Hamlet,  the  son 
of  the  buried  king,  and  lawful  successor  to  the 
throne. 

But  upon  no  one  did  this  unadvised  action  of 
the  queen  make  such  impression  as  upon  this 
young  prince,  who  loved  and  venerated  the 
memory  of  his  dead  father  almost  to  idolatry ; 
and  being  of  a nice  sense  of  honor,  and  a 
most  exquisite  practicer  of  propriety  himself, 
did  sorely  take  to  heart  this  unworthy  conduct 
of  his  mother  Gertrude : insomuch  that  be- 
tween grief  for  his  father’s  death  and  shame  for 
his  mother’s  marriage,  this  young  prince  was 
154 


HAMLET,  PRINCE  OF  DENMARK.  155 


overclouded  with  a deep  melancholy,  and  lost 
all  his  mirth  and  all  his  good  looks ; all  his 
customary  pleasure  in  books  forsook  him,  his 
princely  exercises  and  sports,  proper  to  his 
youth,  were  no  longer  acceptable ; he  grew 
weary  of  the  world,  which  seemed  to  him  an 
unweeded  garden,  where  all  the  wholesome 
flowers  were  choked  up,  and  nothing  but  weeds 
could  thrive.  Not  that  the  prospect  of  ex- 
clusion from  the  throne,  his  lawful  inheritance, 
weighed  so  much  upon  his  spirits,  though  that 
to  a young  and  high-minded  prince  was  a bit- 
ter wound  and  a sore  indignity ; but  what  so 
galled  him,  and  took  away  all  his  cheerful 
spirits,  was,  that  his  mother  had  shown  herself 
so  forgetful  to  his  father’s  memory  : and  such  a 
father  ! who  had  been  to  her  soloving  and  gentle 
a husband  ! and  then  she  always  appeared  as 
loving  and  obedient  a wife  to  him,  and  would 
hang  upon  him  as  if  her  affection  grew  to 
him  : and  now  within  two  months,  or,  as  it 
seemed  to  young  Hamlet,  less  than  two 
months,  she  had  married  again,  married  his 
uncle,  her  dead  husband’s  brother,  in  itself  a 
highly  improper  and  unlawful  marriage,  from 
the  nearness  of  relationship,  but  made  much 
more  so  by  the  indecent  haste  with  which  it  was 
concluded,  and  the  unkingly  character  of  the 
man  whom  she  had  chosen  to  be  the  partner 
of  her  throne  and  bed.  This  it  was,  which 
more  than  the  loss  of  ten  kingdoms,  dashed 
the  spirits,  and  brought  a cloud  over  the  mind 
of  this  honorable  young  prince. 


156  TARES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


In  vain  was  all  that  his  mother*  Gertrude  01 
the  king  could  do  or  contrive  to  divert  him  ; 
he  still  appeared  in  court  in  a suit  of  deep 
black,  as  mourning  for  the  king  his  father’s 
death,  which  mode  of  dress  he  had  never  laid 
aside,  not  even  in  compliment  to  his  mother 
on  the  day  she  was  married,  nor  could  he  be 
brought  to  join  in  any  of  the  festivities  or  re- 
joicings of  that  (as  appeared  to  him)  disgrace- 
ful day. 

What  mostly  troubled  him  was  an  uncer- 
tainty about  the  manner  of  his  father’s  death. 
It  was  given  out  by  Claudius,  that  a serpent 
had  stung  him  : but  young  Hamlet  had  shrewd 
suspicions  that  Claudius  himself  was  the  ser- 
pent ; in  plain  English,  that  he  had  murdered 
him  for  his  crown,  and  that  the  serpent  who 
stung  his  father  did  now,  sit  on  his  throne. 

How  far  he  was  right  in  this  conjecture,  and 
what  he  ought  to  think  of  his  mother, — how 
far  she  was  privy  to  this  murder,  and  whether 
by  her  consent  or  knowledge,  or  without,  it 
came  to  pass, — were  the  doubts  which  con- 
tinually harassed  and  distracted  him. 

A rumor  had  reached  the  ear  of  young 
Hamlet,  that  an  apparition  exactly  resembling 
the  dead  king  his  father,  had  been  seen  by  the 
soldiers  upon  watch,  on  the  platform  before 
the  palace  at  midnight,  for  two  or  three  nights 
successively.  The  figure  came  constantly 
clad  in  the  same  suit  of  armor,  from  head  to 
foot,  which  the  dead  king  was  known  to  have 
worn  : and  they  who  saw  it  (Hamlet’s  bosom- 


HAMLET, i PRINCE  OF  DENMARK,  157 


friend  Horatio  was  one)  agreed  in  their  testi- 
mony as  to  the  manner  and  time  of  its  appear- 
ance : that  it  came  just  as  the  clock  struck 
twelve  ; that  it  looked  pale,  with  a face  more 
of  sorrow  than  of  anger ; that  its  beard  was 
grisly,  and  the  color  a sable  silvered,  as  they 
had  seen  it  in  his  lifetime  : that  it  made  no 
answer  when  they  spoke  to  it,  yet  once  they 
thought  it  lifted  up  its  head,  and  addressed 
itself  to  motion  as  if  it  were  about  to  speak ; 
but  in  that  moment  the  morning  cock  crew, 
and  it  shrunk  in  haste  away,  and  vanished  out 
of  their  sight. 

The  young  prince,  strangely  amazed  at  their 
relation,  which  was  too  consistent  and  agree- 
ing with  itself  to  disbelieve,  concluded  that  it 
was  his  father’s  ghost  which  they  had  seen, 
and  determined  to  take  his  watch  with  the  sol- 
diers that  night,  that  he  might  have  a chance 
of  seeing  it : for  he  reasoned  with  himself,  that 
such  an  appearance  did  not  come  for  nothing, 
but  that  the  ghost  had  something  to  impart, 
and  though  it  had  been  silent  hitherto,  yet  it 
would  speak  to  him.  And  he  waited  with  im- 
patience for  the  coming  of  night. 

When  night  came  he  took  his  stand  with 
Horatio  and  Marcellus,  one  of  the  guard,  upon 
the  platform,  where  this  apparition  was  accus- 
tomed to  walk  : and  it  being  a cold  night,  and 
the  air  unusually  raw  and  nipping,  Hamlet 
and  Horatio  and  their  companion  fell  into 
some  talk  about  the  coldness  of  the  night, 


158  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 

which  was  suddenly  broken  off  by  Horatio 
announcing  that  the  ghost  was  coming. 

At  the  sight  of  his  father’s  spirit,  Hamlet 
was  struck  with  a sudden  surprise  and  fear. 
He  at  first  called  upon  the  angels  and  heavenly 
ministers  to  defend  them,  for  he  knew  not 
whether  it  were  a good  spirit  or  bad  : whether 
it  came  for  good  or  for  evil  : but  he  gradually 
assumed  more  courage  : and  his  father  (as  it 
seemed  to  him)  looked  upon  him  so  piteously, 
and  as  it  were  desiring  to  have  conversation 
with  him,  and  did  in  all  respects  appear  so 
like  himself  as  he  was  when  he  lived,  that 
Hamlet  could  not  help  addressing  him : he 
called  him  by  his  name  Hamlet,  King,  Father  ! 
and  conjured  him  that  he  would  tell  the  rea- 
son why  he  had  left  his  grave,  where  they  had 
seen  him  quietly  bestowed,  to  come  again  a ad 
visit  the  earth  and  the  moonlight : and  be- 
sought him  that  he  would  let  them  know  if 
there  was  anything  which  they  could  do  to 
give  peace  to  his  spirit.  And  the  ghost  beck- 
oned to  Hamlet,  that  he  should  go  with  him 
to  some  more  removed  place,  where  they 
might  be  alone  : and  Horatio  and  Marcellus 
would  have  dissuaded  the  young  prince  from 
following  it,  for  they  feared  lest  it  should  be 
some  evil  spirit,  who  would  tempt  him  to  the 
neighboring  sea,  or  to  the  top  of  some  dread- 
ful cliff,  and  there  put  on  some  horrible  shape 
which  might  deprive  the  prince  of  his  reason. 
But  their  counsels  and  entreaties  could  not 
alter  Hamlet’s  determination,  who  cared  too 


HAMLET,  PRINCE  OF  DENMARK,  159 

little  about  life  to  fear  the  losing  of  it;  and 
as  to  his  soul,  he  said,  what  could  the  spirit 
do  to  that,  being  a thing  immortal  as  itself  ? 
And  he  felt  as  hardy  as  a lion  ; and  bursting 
from  them,  who  did  all  they  could  to  hold  him, 
he  followed  whithersoever  the  spirit  led  him. 

And  when  they  were  alone  together  the 
spirit  broke  silence,  and  told  him  that  he  was 
the  ghost  of  Hamlet,  his  father,  who  had  been 
cruelly  murdered,  and  he  told  the  manner  of 
it ; that  it  was  done  by  his  own  brother  Claud- 
ius, Hamlet’s  uncle,  as  Hamlet  had  already 
but  too  much  suspected,  for  the  hope  of  suc- 
ceeding to  his  bed  and  crown.  That  as  he 
was  sleeping  in  his  garden,  his  custom  always 
in  the  afternoon,  this  treasonous  brother  stole 
upon  him  in  his  sleep,  and  poured  the  juice 
of  poisonous  henbane  into  his  ears,  which  has 
such  an  antipathy  to  the  life  of  man,  that 
swift  as  quicksilver  it  courses  through  all  the 
veins  of  the  body,  baking  up  the  blood,  and 
spreading  a crust-like  leprosy  all  over  the 
skin  : thus  sleeping,  by  a brother’s  hand  he 
was  cut  off  at  once,  from  his  crown,  his  queen, 
and  his  life : and  he  adjured  Hamlet,  if  he 
did  ever  his  dear  father  love,  that  he  would 
revenge  his  foul  murder.  And  the  ghost 
lamented  to  his  son,  that  his  mother  should  so 
fall  off  from  virtue  as  to  prove  false  to  the 
wedded  love  of  her  first  husband,  and  to 
marry  his  murderer : but  he  cautioned  Ham- 
let, howsoever  he  proceeded  in  his  revenge 
against  his  wicked  uncle,  by  no  means  to  act 


160  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


any  violence  against  the  person  of  his  mother 
but  to  leave  her  to  Heaven,  and  to  the  stings 
and  thorns  of  conscience.  And  Hamlet  prom- 
ised to  observe  the  ghost’s  direction  in  all 
things,  and  the  ghost  vanished. 

And  when  Hamlet  was  left  alone,  he  took 
up  a solemn  resolution,  that  all  he  had  in  his 
memory,  all  that  he  had  ever  learned  by  books 
or  observation,  should  be  instantly  forgotten 
by  him,  and  nothing  live  in  his  brain  but  the 
memory  of  what  the  ghost  had  told  him,  and 
enjoined  him  to  do.  And  Hamlet  related  the 
particulars  of  the  conversation  which  had 
passed  to  none  but  his  dear  friend  Horatio  ; 
and  he  enjoined  both  to  him  and  Marcellus 
the  strictest  secrecy  as  to  what  they  had  seen 
that  night. 

The  terror  which  the  sight  of  the  ghost  had 
left  upon  the  senses  of  Hamlet,  he  being  weak 
and  dispirited  before,  almost  unhinged  his 
mind,  and  drove  him  beside  his  reason.  And 
he,  fearing  that  it  would  continue  to  have  this 
effect,  which  might  subject  him  to  observation, 
and  set  his  uncle  upon  his  guard,  if  he  sus- 
pected that  he  was  meditating  anything  against 
him,  or  that  Hamlet  really  knew  more  of  his 
father’s  death  than  he  professed,  took  up  a 
strange  resolution,  from  that  time  to  counter- 
feit as  if  he  were  really  and  truly  mad ; think- 
ing that  he  would  be  less  an  object  of  suspicion 
when  his  uncle  should  believe  him  incapable 
of  any  serious  project,  and  that  his  real  per- 
turbation of  mind  would  be  best  covered  and 


HA  ML  E T,  PRINCE  OF  DENMA  RK.  1 6 1 

pass  concealed  under  a disguise  of  pretended 
lunacy. 

From  this  time  Hamlet  affected  a certain 
wildness  and  strangeness  in  his  apparel,  his 
speech,  and  behavior,  and  did  so  excellently 
counterfeit  the  madman,  that  the  king  and 
queen  were  both  deceived,  and  not  thinking 
his  grief  for  his  father’s  death  a sufficient  cause 
to  produce  such  a distemper,  for  they  knew 
not  of  the  appearance  of  the  ghost,  they  con- 
cluded that  his  malady  was  love,  and  they 
thought  they  had  found  out  the  object. 

Before  Hamlet  fell  into  the  melancholy  way 
which  has  been  related,  he  had  dearly  loved  a 
fair  maid  called  Ophelia,  the  daughter  of  Polo- 
nius,  the  king’s  chief  councilor  in  affairs  of  state. 
He  had  sent  her  letters  and  rings,  and  made 
many  tenders  of  his  affection  to  her,  and  im- 
portuned her  with  love  in  honorable  fashion  : 
and  she  had  given  belief  to  his  vows  and  im- 
portunities. But  the  melancholy  which  he  fell 
into  latterly  had  made  him  neglect  her,  and 
from  the  time  he  conceived  the  project  of 
counterfeiting  madness,  he  affected  to  treat 
her  with  unkindness,  and  a sort  of  rudeness; 
but  she,  good  lady,  rather  than  reproach  him 
with  being  false  to  her,  persuaded  herself  that 
it  was  npthing  but  the  disease  in  his  mind,  and 
no  settled  unkindness,  which  had  made  him 
less  observant  of  her  than  formerly ; and  she 
compared  the  faculties  of  his  once  noble  mind 
and  excellent  understanding,  impaired  as  they 
were  with  the  deep  melancholy  that  oppressed 
ii 


162 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


him,  to  sweet  bells  which  in  themselves  are 
capable  of  most  excellent  music,  but  when 
jangled  out  of  tune,  or  rudely  handled,  produce 
only  a harsh  and  unpleasing  sound. 

Though  the  rough  business  which  Hamlet 
had  in  hand,  the  revenging  of  his  father’s  death 
upon  his  murderer,  did  not  suit  with  the  play- 
ful state  of  courtship,  or  admit  of  the  society 
of  so  idle  a passion  as  love  now  seemed  to  him, 
yet  it  could  not  hinder  but  that  soft  thoughts 
of  his  Ophelia  would  come  between  ; and  in 
one  of  these  moments,  when  he  thought  that 
his  treatment  of  this  gentle  lady  had  been 
unreasonably  harsh,  he  wrote  her  a letter  full 
of  wild  starts  of  passion  and  extravagant  terms, 
such  as  agreed  with  his  supposed  madness, 
but  mixed  with  some  gentle  touches  of  affection, 
which  could  not  but  show  to  this  honored  lady, 
that  a deep  love  for  her  yet  lay  at  the  bottom 
of  his  heart,  He  bade  her  to  doubt  the  stars 
were  fire,  and  to  doubt  that  the  sun  did  move, 
to  doubt  truth  to  be  a liar,  but  never  to  doubt 
that  he  loved ; with  more  of  such  extravagant 
phrases.  This  letter  Ophelia  dutifully  showed 
to  her  father,  and  the  old  man  thought  himself 
bound  to  communicate  it  to  the  king  and  queen, 
who  from  that  time  supposed  that  the  true 
cause  of  Hamlet’s  madness  was  love.  And 
the  queen  wished  that  the  good  beauties  of 
Ophelia  might  be  the  happy  cause  of  his  wild 
ness,  for  so  she  hoped  that  her  virtues  might 
happily  restore  him  to  his  accustomed  way 
again,  to  both  their  honors. 


HAMLET,  PRINCE  OF  DENMARK.  163 

But  Hamlet’s  malady  lay  deeper  than  she 
supposed,  or  than  could  be  so  cured.  His 
father’s  ghost,  which  he  had  seen,  still  haunted 
his  imagination,  and  the  sacred  injunction  to 
revenge  his  murder  gave  him  no  rest  till  it 
was  accomplished.  Every  hour  of  delay  seemed 
to  him  a sin,  and  a violation  of  his  father’s 
commands.  Yet  how  to  compass  the  death  of 
the  king,  surrounded  as  he  constantly  was  with 
his  guards,  was  no  easy  matter.  Or  if  it  had 
been,  the  presence  of  the  queen,  Hamlet’s 
mother,  who  was  generally  with  the  king,  was 
a restraint  upon  his  purpose,  which  he  could 
not  break  through.  Besides,  the  very  circum- 
stance that  the  usurper  was  his  mother’s  hus- 
band, filled  him  with  some  remorse,  and  still 
blunted  the  edge  of  his  purpose.  The  mere 
act  of  putting  a fellow-creature  to  death  was 
in  itself  odious  and  terrible  to  a disposition 
naturally  so  gentle  as  Hamlet’s  was.  His 
very  melancholy,  and  the  dejection  of  spirits 
he  had  so  long  been  in,  produced' an  irresolute- 
ness and  wavering  of  purpose,  which  kept  him 
from  proceeding  to  extremities.  Moreover, 
he  could  not  help  having  some  scruples  upon 
his  mind,  whether  the  spirit  which  he  had  seen 
was  indeed  his  father,  or  whether  it  might  not 
be  the  devil,  who  he  had  heard  has  power  to 
take  any  form  he  pleases,  and  who  might 
have  assumed  his  father’s  shape  only  to  take 
advantage  of  his  weakness  and  his  melancholy, 
to  drive  him  to  the  doing  of  so  desperate  an 
act  as  murder.  And  he  determined  that  he 


164  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 

would  have  more  certain  grounds  to  go  upon 
than  a vision,  or  apparition,  which  might  be  a 
delusion. 

While  he  was  in  this  irresolute  mind,  there 
came  to  the  court  certain  players,  in  whom 
Hamlet  formerly  used  to  take  delight,  and 
particularly  to  hear  one  of  them  speak  a tragical 
speech,  describing  the  death  of  old  Priam,  king 
of  Troy,  with  the  grief  of  Hecuba,  his  queen. 
Hamlet  welcomed  his  old  friends  the  players, 
and  remembering  how  that  speech  had  formerly 
given  him  pleasure,  requested  the  player  to 
repeat  it ; which  he  did  in  so  lively  a manner, 
setting  forth  the  cruel  murder  of  the  feeble 
old  king,  with  the  destruction  of  his  people 
and  city  by  fire,  and  the  mad  grief  of  the  old 
queen,  running  barefoot  up  and  down  the 
palace,  with  a poor  clout  upon  that  head  where 
a crown  had  been,  and  with  nothing  but  a 
blanket  upon  her  loins,  snatched  up  in  haste, 
where  she  had  worn  a royal  robe:  that  not  only 
it  drew  tears  from  all  that  stood  by,  who  thought 
they  saw  the  real  scene,  so  lively  was  it  repre- 
sented, but  even  the  player  himself  delivered 
it  with  a broken  voice  and  real  tears.  This 
put  Hamlet  upon  thinking,  if  that  player  could 
so  work  himself  up  to  passion  by  a mere  ficti- 
tious speech,  to  weep  for  one  that  he  had  never 
seen,  for  Hecuba,  that  had  been  dead  so  many 
hundred  years,  how  dull  was  he,  who  having  a 
real  motive  and  cue  for  passion,  a real  king 
and  a dear  father  murdered,  was  yet  so  little 
moved,  that  his  revenge  all  this  while  had 


HAMLET ; PRINCE  OF  DENMARK,  165 

seemed  to  have  slept  in  dull  and  muddy  for- 
getfulness ! And  while  he  meditated  on  actors 
and  acting,  and  the  powerful  effects  which  a 
good  play,  represented  to  the  life,  has  upon 
the  spectator,  he  remembered  the  instance  of 
some  murderer,  who  seeing  a murder  on  the 
stage,  was  by  the  mere  force  of  the  scene  and 
resemblance  of  circumstances  so  affected,  that 
on  the  spot  he  confessed  the  crime  which  he 
had  committed.  And  he  determined  that 
these  players  should  play  something  like  the 
murder  of  his  father  before  his  uncle,  and  he 
would  watch  narrowly  what  effect  it  might  have 
upon  him,  and  from  his  looks  he  would  be  able 
to  gather  with  more  certainty  if  he  were  the 
murderer  or  not.  To  this  effect  he  ordered  a 
play  to  be  prepared,  to  the  representation  of 
which  he  invited  the  king  and  queen. 

The  story  of  the  play  was  of  a murder  done 
in  Vienna  upon  a duke.  The  duke’s  name  was 
Gonzago,  his  wife  Baptista.  The  play  showed 
how  one  Lucianus,  a near  relation  to  the  duke, 
poisoned  him  in  his  garden  for  his  estate,  and 
how  the  murderer  in  a short  time  after  got  the 
love  of  Gonzago’s  wife. 

At  the  representation  of  this  play,  the  king, 
who  did  not  know  the  trap  which  was  laid  for 
him,  was  present,  with  his  queen  and  the 
whole  court ; Hamlet  sitting  attentively  near 
him  to  observe  his  looks.  The  play  began 
with  a conversation  between  Gonzago  and  his 
wife,  in  which  the  lady  made  many  protesta- 
tions of  love,  and  of  never  marrying  a second 


i66 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


husband,  if  she  should  outlive  Gonzago ; wish- 
ing she  might  be  accursed  if  ever  she  took  a 
second  husband,  and  adding  that  no  woman 
ever  did  so  but  those  wicked  women  who  kill 
their  first  husbands.  Hamlet  observed  the  king, 
his  uncle,  change  color  at  this  expression,  and 
that  it  was  as  bad  as  wormwood  both  to  him 
and  to  the  queen.  But  when  Lucianus,  accord- 
ing to  the  story,  came  to  poison  Gonzago  sleep- 
ing in  the  garden,  the  strong  resemblance 
which  it  bore  to  his  own  wicked  act  upon  the 
late  king,  his  brother,  whom  he  had  poisoned 
in  his  garden,  so  struck  upon  the  conscience 
of  this  usurper,  that  he  was  unable  to  sit  out  the 
rest  of  the  play,  but  on  a sudden  calling  for 
lights  to  his  chamber,  and  affecting  or  partly 
feeling  a sudden  sickness,  he  abruptly  left  the 
theater.  The  king  being  departed,  the  play 
was  given  over.  Now  Hamlet  had  seen 
enough  to  feel  satisfied  that  the  words  of  the 
ghost  were  true,  and  no  illusion ; and  in  a fit 
of  gayety,  like  that  which  comes  over  a man 
who  suddenly  has  some  great  doubt  or  scruple 
resolved,  he  swore  to  Horatio,  that  he  would 
take  the  ghost’s  word  for  a thousand  pounds. 
But  before  he  could  make  up  his  resolution  as 
to  what  measures  of  revenge  he  should  take, 
now  he  was  certainly  informed  that  his  uncle 
was  his  father’s  murderer,  he  was  sent  for  by 
the  queen,  his  mother,  to  a private  conference 
in  her  closet. 

It  was  by  desire  of  the  king  that  the  queen 
sent  for  Hamlet,  that  she  might  signify  to  her 


HAMLET,  PRINCE  OF  DENMARK.  167 


son  how  much  his  late  behavior  had  displeased 
them  both  ; and  the  king,  wishing  to  know  all 
that  passed  at  that  conference,  and  thinking 
that  the  too  partial  report  of  a mother  might 
let  slip  some  part  of  Hamlet’s  words,  which  it 
might  much  import  the  king  to  know,  Polonius, 
the  old  councilor  of  state,  was  ordered  to  plant 
himself  behind  the  hangings  in  the  queen’s 
closet,  where  he  might  unseen  hear  all  that 
passed.  This  artifice  was  particularly  adapted 
to  the  disposition  of  Polonius,  who  was  a man 
grown  old  in  crooked  maxims  and  policies  of 
state,  and  delighted  to  get  at  the  knowledge 
of  matters  in  an  indirect  and  cunning  way. 

Hamlet  being  come  to  his  mother,  she  began 
to  tax  him  in  the  roundest  way  with  his  actions 
and  behavior,  and  she  told  him  that  he  had 
given  great  offense  to  his  father , meaning  the 
king,  his  uncle,  whom,  because  he  had  married 
her,  she  called  Hamlet’s  father.  Hamlet, 
sorely  indignant  that  she  should  give  so  dear 
and  honored  a name  as  father  seemed  to  him, 
to  a wretch  who  was  indeed  no  better  than  the 
murderer  of  his  true  father,  with  some  sharp- 
ness replied,  “ Mother,  you  have  much  offended 
my  father.”  The  queen  said  that  was  but  an 
idle  answer.  “ As  good  as  the  question 
deserved,”  said  Hamlet.  The  queen  asked 
him  if  he  had  forgotten  who  it  was  he  was 
speaking  to?  “ Alas  ! ” replied  Hamlet,  “I 
wish  I could  forget.  You  are  the  queen,  your 
husband’s  brother’s  wife ; and  you  are  my 
mother ; I wish  you  were  not  what  you  are.” 


168  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 

“ Nay,  then/’  said  the  queen,  “ if  you  show  me 
so  little  respect,  I will  send  those  to  you  that 
can  speak,”  and  was  going  to  send  the  king  or 
Polonius  to  him.  But  Hamlet  would  not  let 
her  go,  now  he  had  her  alone,  till  he  had  tried 
if  his  words  could  not  bring  her  to  some  sense 
of  her  wicked  life  ; and,  taking  her  by  the  wrist, 
he  held  her  fast,  and  made  her  sit  down.  She, 
affrighted  at  his  earnest  manner,  and  fearful 
lest  in  his  lunacy  he  should  do  her  a mischief, 
cried  out : and  a voice  was  heard  from  behind 
the  hangings,  “ Help,  help  the  queen  ! ” which 
Hamlet  hearing,  and  verily  thinking  it  was  the 
king  himself  there  concealed,  he  drew  his 
sword,  and  stabbed  at  the  place  where  the 
voice  came  from,  as  he  would  have  stabbed  a 
rat  that  ran  there,  till  the  voice,  ceasing,  he 
concluded  the  person  to  be  dead.  But  when 
he  dragged  forth  the  body,  it  was  not  the  king, 
but  Polonius,  the  old  officious  councilor,  that 
had  planted  himself  as  a spy  behind  the  hang- 
ings. “ O me  ! ” exclaimed  the  queen,  “ what 
a rash  and  bloody  deed  you  have  done ! ” 
A bloody  deed,  mother,”  replied  Hamlet; 
“ but  not  so  bad  as  yours,  who  killed  a king 
and  married  his  brother.  ” Hamlet  had  gone 
too  far  to  leave  off  here.  He  was  now  in  the 
humor  to  speak  plainly  to  his  mother,  and  he 
pursued  it.  And  though  the  faults  of  parents 
are  to  be  tenderly  treated  by  their  children, 
yet  in  the  case  of  great  crimes  the  son  may 
have  leave  to  speak  even  to  his  own  mother 
with  some  harshness,  so  as  that  harshness  is 


HAMLET ; PRINCE  OF  DENMARK.  169 

meant  for  her  good,  and  to  turn  her  from  her 
wicked  ways,  and  not  done  for  the  purpose  of 
upbraiding.  And  now  this  virtuous  prince  did 
in  moving  terms  represent  to  the  queen  the 
heinousness  of  her  offense,  in  being  so  forget- 
ful of  the  dead  king,  his  father,  as  in  so  short 
a space  of  time  to  marry  with  his  brother  and 
reputed  murderer : such  an  act  as,  after  the 
vows  which  she  had  sworn  to  her  first  husband, 
was  enough  to  make  all  vows  of  women  sus- 
pected, and  all  virtue  to  be  accounted  hypocrisy, 
wedding  contracts  to  be  less  than  gamesters’ 
oaths,  and  religion  to  be  a mockery  and  a 
mere  form  of  words.  He  said  she  had  done 
such  a deed  that  the  heavens  blushed  at  it, 
and  the  earth  was  sick  of  her  because  of  it. 
And  he  showed  her  two  pictures,  the  one  of 
the  late  king,  her  first  husband,  and  the  other 
of  the  present  king,  her  second  husband,  and 
he  bade  her  mark  the  difference  : what  a grace 
was  on  the  brow  of  his  father,  how  like  a god 
he  looked  ! the  curls  of  Apollo,  the  forehead 
of  Jupiter,  the  eye  of  Mars,  and  a posture  like 
to  Mercury  newly  alighted  on  some  heaven- 
kissing  hill ! this  man  had  been  her  husband. 
And  then  he  showed  her  whom  she  had  got  in 
his  stead  : how  like  a blight  or  a mildew  he 
looked,  for  so  he  had  blasted  his  wholesome 
brother.  And  the  queen  was  sore  ashamed 
that  he  should  so  turn  her  eyes  inward  upon 
her  soul,  which  she  now  saw  so  black  and 
deformed.  And  he  asked  her  how  she  could 
continue  to  live  with  this  man,  and  be  a wife 


170  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 

to  him,  who  had  murdered  her  first  husband, 
and  got  the  crown  by  as  false  means  as  a thief 
— -And  just  as  he  spoke,  the  ghost  of  his  father, 
such  as  he  was  in  his  lifetime,  and  such  as  he 
had  lately  seen  it,  entered  the  room,  and  Ham- 
let, in  great  terror,  asked  what  it  would  have ; 
and  the  ghost  said  that  it  came  to  remind  him 
of  the  revenge  he  had  promised,  which  Ham- 
let seemed  to  have  forgot : and  the  ghost  bade 
him  speak  to  his  mother,  for  the  grief  and 
terror  she  was  in  would  else  kill  her.  It  then 
vanished,  and  was  seen  by  none  but  Hamlet, 
neither  could  he  by  pointing  to  where  it  stood, 
or  by  any  description,  make  his  mother  per- 
ceive it,  who  was  terribly  frightened  all  this 
while  to  hear  him  conversing,  as  it  seemed  to 
her,  with  nothing : and  she  imputed  it  to  the 
disorder  of  his  mind.  But  Hamlet  begged  her 
not  to  flatter  her  wicked  soul  in  such  a manner 
as  to  think  that  it  was  his  madness,  and  not 
her  own  offenses,  which  had  brought  his  father’s 
spirit  again  on  the  earth.  And  he  bade  her 
feel  his  pulse,  how  temperately  it  beat,  not  like 
a madman’s.  And  he  begged  of  her,  with 
tears,  to  confess  herself  to  Heaven  for  what 
was  past,  and  for  the  future  to  avoid  the  com- 
pany of  the  king,  and  be  no  more  as  a wife  to 
him  : and  when  she  should  show  herself  a 
mother  to  him,  by  respecting  his  father’s 
memory,  he  would  ask  a blessing  of  her  as  a 
son.  And  she  promising  to  observe  his  di- 
rections, the  conference  ended. 

And  now  Hamlet  was  at  leisure  to  consider 


HAMLET,  PRINCE  OF  DENMARK.  171 


who  it  was  that  in  his  unfortunate  rashness  he 
had  killed  : and  when  he  came  to  see  that  it 
was  Polonius,  the  father  of  the  lady  Ophelia, 
whom  he  so  dearly  loved,  he  drew  apart  the 
dead  body,  and,  his  spirits  being  a little  quieter, 
he  wept  for  what  he  had  done. 

This  unfortunate  death  of  Polonius  gave 
the  king  a pretense  for  sending  Hamlet  out  of 
the  kingdom.  He  would  willingly  have  put 
him  to  death,  fearing  him  as  dangerous  ; but 
he  dreaded  the  people,  who  loved  Hamlet ; 
and  the  queen,  who,  with  all  her  faults,  doted 
upon  the  prince  her  son.  So  this  subtle  king, 
under  pretense  of  providing  for  Hamlet’ s safety, 
that  he  might  not  be  called  to  account  for  Polo- 
nius’s  death,  caused  him  to  be  conveyed  on 
board  a ship  bound  for  England,  under  the 
care  of  two  courtiers,  by  whom  he  dispatched 
letters  to  the  English  court,  which  at  that  time 
was  in  subjection  and  paid  tribute  to  Denmark, 
requiring,  for  special  reasons  there  pretended, 
that  Hamlet  should  be  put  to  death  as  soon  as 
he  landed  on  English  ground.  Hamlet,  suspect- 
ing some  treachery,  in  the  night-time  secretly 
got  at  the  letters,  and  skillfully  erasing  his  own 
name,  he  in  the  stead  of  it  put  in  the  names  of 
those  two  courtiers  who  had  the  charge  of  him 
to  be  put  to  death  : then  sealing  up  the  letters, 
he  put  them  into  their  place  again.  Soon  after 
the  ship  was  attacked  by  pirates,  and  a sea- 
fight  commenced  : in  the  course  of  which  Ham- 
let, desirous  to  show  his  valor,  with  sword  in 
hand  singly  boarded  the  enemy’s  vessel,  while 


172 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


his  own  ship,  in  a cowardly  manner,  bore  away, 
and  leaving  him  to  his  fate  the  two  courtiers 
made  the  best  of  their  way  to  England,  charged 
with  those  letters  the  sense  of  which  Hamlet 
had  altered  to  their  own  deserved  destruction. 

The  pirates  who  had  the  prince  in  their 
power  showed  themselves  gentle  enemies  ; and 
knowing  whom  they  had  got  prisoner,  in  the 
hope  that  the  prince  might  do  them  a good 
turn  at  court  in  recompense  for  any  favor 
they  might  show  him,  they  set  Hamlet  on  shore 
at  the  nearest  port  in  Denmark.  From  that 
place  Hamlet  wrote  to  the  king,  acquainting 
him  with  the  strange  chance  which  had  brought 
him  back  to  his  own  country,  and  saying  that 
on  the  next  day  he  should  present  himself 
before  his  majesty.  When  he  got  home  a sad 
spectacle  offered  itself  the  first  thing  to  his 
eyes. 

This  was  the  funeral  of  the  young  and  beau- 
tiful Ophelia,  his  once  dear  mistress.  The 
wits  of  this  young  lady  had  begun  to  turn  ever 
since  her  poor  father’s  death.  That  he  should 
die  a violent  death,  and  by  the  hands  of  the 
prince  whom  she  loved,  so  affected  this  tender 
young  maid,  that  in  a little  time  she  grew  per- 
fectly distracted,  and  would  go  about  giving 
flowers  away  to  the  ladies  of  the  court,  and 
saying  that  they  were  for  her  father’s  burial, 
singing  songs  about  love  and  about  death,  and 
sometimes  such  as  had  no  meaning  at  all,  as  if 
she  had  no  memory  of  what  happened  to  her. 
There  was  a willow  which  grew  slanting  over 


HAMLET,  PRINCE  OF  DENMARK.  173 

a brook,  and  reflected  its  leaves  in  the  stream. 
To  this  brook  she  came  one  day  when  she  was 
unwatched,  with  garlands  she  had  been  making, 
mixed  up  of  daisies  and  nettles,  flowers  and 
weeds  together,  and  clambering  up  to  hang  her 
garland  upon  the  boughs  of  the  willow,  a bough 
broke  and  precipitated  this  fair  young  maid, 
garland,  and  all  that  she  had  gathered,  into 
the  water,  where  her  clothes  bore  her  up  for  a 
while,  during  which  she  chanted  scraps  of  old 
tunes,  like  one  insensible  to  her  own  distress, 
or  as  if  she  were  a creature  natural  to  that 
element : but  long  it  was  not,  before  her  gar- 
ments heavy  with  the  wet,  pulled  her  in  from 
her  melodious  singing  to  a muddy  and  miser- 
able death.  It  was  the  funeral  of  this  fair 
maid  which  her  brother  Laertes  was  celebrat- 
ing, the  king  and  queen  and  whole  court  being 
present,  when  Hamlet  arrived.  He  knew  not 
what  all  this  show  imported,  but  stood  on  one 
side,  not  inclining  to  interrupt  the  ceremony. 
He  saw  the  flowers  strewed  upon  her  grave, 
as  the  custom  was  in  maiden  burials,  which 
the  queen  herself  threw  in  ; and  as  she  threw 
them  she  said,  “ Sweets  to  the  sweet ! I thought 
to  have  decked  thy  bride-bed,  sweet  maid,  not 
to  have  strewed  thy  grave.  Thou  shouldst 
have  been  my  Hamlet’s  wife.”  And  he  heard 
her  brother  wish  that  violets  might  spring  from 
her  grave  : and  he  saw  him  leap  into  the 
grave  all  frantic  with  grief,  and  bid  the  attend- 
ants pile  mountains  of  earth  upon  him,  that 
he  might  be  buried  with  her.  And  Hamlet’s 


174  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 

love  for  this  fair  maid  came  back  to  him,  and 
he  could  not  bear  that  a brother  should  show 
so  much  transport  of  grief,  for  he  thought  that 
he  loved  Ophelia  better  than  forty  thousand 
brothers.  Then  discovering  himself,  he  leaped 
into  the  grave  where  Laertes  was,  all  as  frantic 
or  more  frantic  than  he,  and  Laertes,  knowing 
him  to  be  Hamlet,  who  had  been  the  cause 
of  his  father’s  and  his  sister’s  death,  grap- 
pled him  by  the  throat  as  an  enemy,  till 
the  attendants  .parted  them  : and  Hamlet, 
after  the  funeral,  excused  his  hasty  act  in 
throwing  himself  into  the  grave  as  if  to  brave 
Laertes ; but  he  said  he  could  not  bear  that 
any  one  should  seem  to  outgo  him  in  grief 
for  the  death  of  the  fair  Ophelia.  And  for 
the  time  those  two  noble  youths  seemed  rec- 
onciled. 

But  out  of  the  grief  and  anger  of  Laertes  for 
the  death  of  his  father  and  Ophelia,  the  king, 
Hamlet’s  wicked  uncle,  contrived  destruction 
for  Hamlet.  He  set  on  Laertes,  under  cover 
of  peace  and  reconciliation,  to  challenge  Ham- 
let to  a friendly  trial  of  skill  at  fencing,  which 
Hamlet  accepting,  a day  was  appointed  to  try 
the  match.  At  this  match  all  the  court  was 
present,  and  Laertes,  by  direction  of  the  king 
prepared  a poisoned  weapon.  Upon  this  match 
great  wagers  were  laid  by  the  courtiers,  as  both 
Hamlet  and  Laertes  were  known  to  excel  at 
this  sword-play  ; and  Hamlet  taking  up  the  foils 
chose  one,  not  at  all  suspecting  the  treachery 
of  Laertes,  or  being  careful  to  examine  Laertes’ 


HAMLET,  PRINCE  OF  DENMARK, i 175 

weapon,  who,  instead  of  a foil  or  blunted 
sword,  which  the  laws  of  fencing  require, 
made  use  of  one  with  a point,  and  poisoned. 
At  first  Laertes  did  but  play  with  Hamlet,  and 
suffered  him  to  gain  some  advantages,  which 
the  dissembling  king  magnified  and  extolled 
beyond  measure,  drinking  to  Hamlet’s  success, 
and  wagering  rich  bets  upon  the  issue  : but 
after  a few  passes,  Laertes,  growing  warm, 
made  a deadly  thrust  at  Hamlet  with  his  poi- 
soned weapon,  and  gave  him  a mortal  blow. 
Hamlet,  incensed,  but  not  knowing  the  whole 
of  the  treachery,  in  the  scuffle  exchanged  his 
own  innocent  weapon  for  Laertes’  deadly  one, 
and  with  a thrust  of  Laertes’  own  sword  repaid 
Laertes  home,  who  was  thus  justly  caught  in 
his  own  treachery.  In  this  instatit  the  queen 
shrieked  out  that  she  was  poisoned.  She  had 
inadvertently  drunk  out  of  a bowl  which  the 
king  had  prepared  for  Hamlet,  in  case  that 
being  warm  in  fencing  he  should  call  for  drink  ; 
into  this  the  treacherous  king  had  infused  a 
deadly  poison,  to  make  sure  of  Hamlet  if 
Laertes  had  failed.  He  had  forgotten  to  warn 
the  queen  of  the  bowl,  which  she  drank  of, 
and  immediately  died,  exclaiming  with  her  last 
breath  that  she  was  poisoned.  Hamlet,  sus- 
pecting some  treachery,  ordered  the  doors  to  be 
shut,  while  he  sought  it  out.  Laertes  told  him 
to  seek  no  further,  for  he  was  the  traitor ; and 
feeling  his  life  go  away  with  the  wound  which 
Hamlet  had  given  him,  he  made  confession  of 
the  treachery  he  had  used,  and  how  he  had 


176  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE , 

fallen  a victim  to  it : and  he  told  Hamlet  of 
the  envenomed  point,  and  said  that  Hamlet 
' had  not  half  an  hour  to  live,  for  no  medicine 
could  cure  him  ; and  begging  forgiveness  of 
Hamlet,  he  died,  with  his  last  words  accusing 
the  king  of  being  the  contriver  of  the  mischief. 
When  Hamlet  saw  his  end  draw  near,  there 
being  yet  some  venom  left  upon  the  sword,  he 
suddenly  turned  upon  his  false  uncle,  and 
thrust  the  point  of  it  to  his  heart,  fulfilling  the 
promise  which  he  had  made  to  his  father’s 
spirit,  whose  injunction  was  now  accomplished, 
and  his  foul  murder  revenged  upon  the  mur- 
derer. Then  Hamlet,  feeling  his  breath  fail 
and  life  departing,  turned  to  his  dear  friend 
Horatio,  who  had  been  spectator  of  this  fatal 
tragedy ; and  with  his  dying  breath  requested 
him  that  he  would  live  to  tell  his  story  to  the 
world  (for  Horatio  had  made  a motion  as  if  he 
would  slay  himself  to  accompany  the  prince 
in  death)  ; and  Horatio  promised  that  he 
would  make  a true  report  as  one  that  was  privy 
to  all  the  circumstances.  And,  thus  satisfied, 
the  noble  heart  of  Hamlet  cracked  : and  Ho- 
ratio and  the  bystanders  with  many  tears  com- 
mended the  spirit  of  their  sweet  prince  to  the 
guardianship  of  angels.  For  Hamlet  was  a lov- 
ing and  a gentle  prince,  and  greatly  beloved  for 
his  many  noble  and  prince-like  qualities ; and 
if  he  had  lived  would  no  doubt  have  proved 
a most  royal  and  complete  king  to  Danmark. 


THE  TEMPEST. 


There  was  a certain  island  in  the  sea,  the 
only  inhabitants  of  which  were  an  old  man, 
whose  name  was  Prospero,  and  his  daughter 
Miranda,  a very  beautiful  young  lady.  She 
came  to  this  island  so  young,  that  she  had  no 
memory  of  having  seen  any  other  human  face 
than  her  fathers. 

They  lived  in  a cave  or  cell,  made  out  of  a 
rock : it  was  divided  into  several  apartments, 
one  of  which  Prospero  called  his  study;  there 
he  kept  his  books,  which  chiefly  treated  of 
magic,  a study  at  that  time  much  affected  by 
all  learned  men  : and  the  knowledge  of  this  art 
he  found  very  useful  to  him  : for  being  thrown 
by  a strange  chance  upon  this  island,  which 
had  been  enchanted  by  a witch  called  Sycorax, 
who  died  there  a short  time  before  his  arrival, 
Prospero,  by  virtue  of  his  art,  released  many 
good  spirits  that  Sycorax  had  imprisoned  in 
the  bodies  of  large  trees,  because  they  had 
refused  to  execute  her  wicked  commands. 
These  gentle  spirits  were  ever  after  obedient 
to  the  will  of  Prospero.  Of  these  Ariel  was 
the  chief. 

The  lively  little  sprite  Ariel  had  nothing 
mischievous  in  his  nature,  except  that  he  took 
12  177 


178  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 

rather  too  much  pleasure  in  tormenting  an  ugly 
monster  called  Caliban,  for  he  owed  him  a 
grudge  because  he  was  the  son  of  his  old  ene- 
my Sycorax.  This  Caliban  Prospero  found  in 
the  woods,  a strange  misshapen  thing,  far  less 
human  in  form  than  an  ape  : he  took  him 
home  to  his  cell,  and  taught  him  to  speak  ; 
and  Prospero  would  have  been  very  kind  to 
him,  but  the  bad  nature  which  Caliban  inher- 
ited from  his  mother  Sycorax  would  not  let 
him  learn  anything  good  or  useful : therefore 
he  was  employed  like  a slave,  to  fetch  wood, 
and  do  the  most  laborious  offices  ; and  Ariel 
had  the  charge  of  compelling  him  to  these 
services. 

When  Caliban  was  lazy  and  neglected  his 
work,  Ariel  (who  was  invisible  to  all  eyes  but 
Prospero’s)  would  come  slyly  and  pinch  him, 
and  sometimes  tumble  him  down  in  the  mire ; 
and  then  Ariel,  in  the  likeness  of  an  ape, 
would  make  mouths  at  him.  Then  swiftly 
changing  his  shape,  in  the  likeness  of  a hedge- 
hog, he  would  lie  tumbling  in  Caliban’s  way, 
who  feared  the  hedgehog’s  sharp  quills  would 
prick  his  bare  feet.  With  a variety  of  such- 
like vexatious  tricks  Ariel  would  often  torment 
him,  whenever  Caliban  neglected  the  work 
which  Prospero  commanded  him  to  do. 

Having  these  powerful  spirits  obedient  to 
his  will,  Prospero  could  by  their  means  com- 
mand the  winds  and  the  waves  of  the  sea. 
By  his  orders  they  raised  a violent  storm,  in 
the  midst  of  which,  and  struggling  with  the 


THE  TEMPEST 


179 


wild  sea-waves  that  every  moment  threatened 
to  swallow  it  up,  he  showed  his  daughter  a 
line  large  ship,  which  he  told  her  was  full  of 
living  beings  like  themselves.  “ O my  dear 
father,”  said  she,  “ if  by  your  art  you  have 
raised  this  dreadful  storm,  have  pity  on  their 
sad  distress.  See  ! the  vessel  will  be  dashed 
to  pieces.  Poor  souls ! they  will  all  perish. 
If  I had  power  I would  sink  the  sea  beneath 
the  earth,  rather  than  the  good  ship  should  be 
destroyed,  with  all  the  precious  souls  within 
her.” 

“ Be  not  so  amazed,  daughter  Miranda,” 
said  Prospero  ; “ there  is  no  harm  done.  I 
have  so  ordered  it  that  no  person  in  the  ship 
shall  receive  any  hurt.  What  I have  done  has 
been  in  care  of  you,  my  dear  child.  You  are 
ignorant  who  you  are,  or  where  you  came 
from,  and  you  know  no  more  of  me  but  that  I 
am  your  father,  and  live  in  this  poor  cave. 
Can  you  remember  a time  before  you  came  to 
this  cell  ? I think  you  cannot,  for  you  were 
not  then  three  years  of  age.” 

“ Certainly  I can,  sir,”  replied  Miranda. 

“ By  what  ? ” asked  Prospero  : “ by  any 
other  house  or  person  ? Tell  me  what  you 
can  remember,  my  child.” 

Miranda  said,  “ It  seems  to  me  lilse  the 
recollection  of  a dream.  But  had  I not  once 
four  or  five  women  who  attended  upon  me  ? ” 

Prospero  answered,  “You  had,  and  more. 
How  is  it  that  this  still  lives  in  your  mind. 
Do  you  remember  how  you  came  here  ? ” 


i8o 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEA RE. 


“ No,  sir,”  said  Miranda,  “ I remember 
nothing  more.” 

“ Twelve  years  ago,  Miranda,”  continued 
Prospero,  “ I was  duke  of  Milan,  and  you 
were  a princess,  and  my  only  heir.  I had  a 
younger  brother  whose  name  was  Antonio, 
to  whom  I trusted  everything  ; and  as  I was 
fond  of  retirement  and  deep  study,  I com- 
monly left  the  management  of  my  state  affairs 
to  your  uncle,  my  false  brother  (for  so  indeed 
he  proved).  I,  neglecting  all  worldly  ends, 
buried  among  my  books,  did  dedicate  my 
whole  time  to  the  bettering  of  my  mind.  My 
brother  Antonio  being  thus  in  possession  of 
my  power,  began  to  think  himself  the  duke 
indeed.  The  opportunity  I gave  him  of 
making  himself  popular  among  my  subjects 
awakened  in  his  bad  nature  a proud  ambition 
to  deprive  me  of  my  dukedom ; this  he  soon 
effected  with  the  aid  of  the  King  of  Naples,  a 
powerful  prince,  who  was  my  enemy.” 

“Wherefore,”  said  Miranda,  “did  they  not 
that  hour  destroy  us  ? ” 

“ My  child,”  answered  her  father,  “ they 
durst  notr  so  dear  was  the  love  that  my  people 
bore  me.  Antonio  carried  us  on  board  a ship, 
and  when  we  were  some  leagues  out  at  sea,  he 
forced  us  into  a small  boat,  without  either 
tackle,  sail,  or  mast : there  he  left  us  as  he 
thought  to  perish.  But  a kind  lord  of  my 
court,  one  Gonzalo,  who  loved  me,  had 
privately  placed  in  the  boat,  water,  provisions, 
apparel,  and  some  books  which  I prize  above 
my  dukedom.” 


THE  TEMPEST . 


181 


“ O my  father,”  said  Miranda,  “ what  a 
trouble  must  I have  been  to  you  then  ! ” 

“ No,  my  love,”  said  Prospero,  “ you  were 
a little  cherub  that  did  preserve  me.  Your 
innocent  smiles  made  me  to  bear  up  against 
my  misfortunes.  Our  food  lasted  till  we 
landed  on  this  desert  island,  since  when  my 
chief  delight  has  been  in  teaching  you,  Mi- 
randa, and  well  have  you  profited  by  my  in- 
structions.” 

“ Heaven  thank  you,  my  dear  father,”  said 
Miranda.  “ Now  pray  tell  me,  sir,  your  reason 
for  raising  this  sea-storm.”  . 

u Know,  then,”  said  her  father,  “ that  by 
means  of  this  storm  my  enemies,  the  king  of 
Naples  and  my  cruel  brother,  are  cast  ashore 
upon  this  island.” 

Having  so  said,  Prospero  gently  touched  his 
daughter  with  his  magic  wand,  and  she  fell  fast 
asleep  : for  the  spirit  Ariel  just  then  presented 
himself  before  his  master,  to  give  an  account 
of  the  tempest,  and  how  he  had  disposed  of  the 
ship’s  company;  and,  though  the  spirits  were 
always  invisible  to  Miranda,  Prospero  did  not 
choose  she  should  hear  him  holding  converse 
(as  would  seem  to  her)  with  the  empty  air. 

“ Well,  my  brave  spirit,”  said  Prospero  to 
Ariel,  “ how  have  you  performed  your  task  ? ” 
Ariel  gave  a lively  description  of  the  storm, 
and  of  the  terror  of  the  mariners  ; and  how 
the  king’s  son,  Ferdinand,  was  the  first  who 
leaped  into  the  sea,  and  his  father  thought  he 
saw  this  dear  son  swallowed  up  by  the  waves 


182  tales  from  shakspeare. 


and  lost.  “ But  he  is  safe/’  said  Ariel,  “ in  a 
corner  of  the  isle,  sitting  with  his  arms  folded 
sadly,  lamenting  the  loss  of  the  king  his  father, 
whom  he  concludes  drowned.  Not  a hair  of 
his  head  is  injured,  and  his  princely  garments, 
though  drenched  in  the  sea-waves,  look  fresher 
than  before.” 

“ That’s  my  delicate  Ariel,”  said  Prospero. 
“ Bring  him  hither : my  daughter  must  see 
this  young  prince.  Where  is  the  king,  and 
my  brother  ? ” 

“ I left  them,”  answered  Ariel,  “ searching 
for  Ferdinand,  whom  they  have  little  hopes 
of  finding,  thinking  they  saw  him  perish.  Of 
the  ship’s  crew  not  one  is  missing ; though 
each  one  thinks  himself  the  only  one  saved : 
and  the  ship,  though  invisible  to  them,  is  safe 
in  the  harbor.” 

“Ariel,”  said  Prospero,  “ thy  charge  is  faith- 
fully performed ; but  there  is  more  work  yet.” 

“ Is  there  more  work  ? ” said  Ariel.  “ Let 
me  remind  you,  master,  you  have  promised  me 
my  liberty.  I pray,  remember,  I have  done 
you  worthy  service,  told  you  no  lies,  made  no 
mistakes,  served  you  without  grudge  or  grum- 
bling.” 

“ How  now,”  said  Prospero.  “ You  do  not 
recollect  what  a torment  I freed  you  from. 
Have  you  forgotten  the  wicked  witch  Sycorax, 
who  with  age  and  envy  was  almost  bent  double  ? 
Where  was  she  born  ? Speak  : tell  me.” 

“ Sir,  in  Algiers,”  said  Ariel. 

“ Oh,  was  she  so  ? ” said  Prospero.  “ I must 


THE  TEMPEST 


183 


recount  what  you  have  been,  which  I find  you 
do  not  remember.  This  bad  witch  Sycorax, 
for  her  witchcrafts,  too  terrible  to  enter  human 
hearing,  was  banished  from  Algiers,  and  here 
left  by  the  sailors  ; and  because  you  were  a 
spirit  too  delicate  to  execute  her  wicked  com- 
mands, she  shut  you  up  in  a tree,  where  I found 
you  howling.  This  torment,  remember,  I did 
free  you  from.” 

“ Pardon  me,  dear  master,”  said  Ariel, 
ashamed  to  seem  ungrateful  ; “ I will  obey 
your  commands.” 

“ Do  so,”  said  Prospero,  “ and  I will  set  you 
free.”  He  then  gave  orders  what  farther  he 
would  have  him  do,  and  away  went  Ariel,  first 
to  where  he  had  left  Ferdinand,  and  found  him 
still  sitting  on  the  grass  in  the  same  melan- 
choly posture. 

“ O my  young  gentleman,”  said  Ariel,  when 
he  saw  him,  “ I will  soon  move  you.  You 
must  be  brought,  I find,  for  the  Lady  Miranda 
to  have  a sight  of  your  pretty  person.  Come, 
sir,  follow  me.”  fie  then  began  singing, 

“ Full  fathom  five  thy  father  lies  : 

Of  his  bones  are  coral  made  ; 

Those  are  pearls  that  were  his  eyes ; 

Nothing  of  him  that  doth  fade, 

But  doth  suffer  a sea-change 
Into  something  rich  and  strange. 

Sea-nymphs  hourly  ring  his  knell  : 

Hark,  now  I hear  them,  ding-dong  bell.” 

This  strange  news  of  his  lost  father  soon 
roused  the  prince  from  the  stupid  fit  into  which 


184  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


he  had  fallen.  He  followed  in  amazement  the 
sound  of  Ariel’s  voice,  till  it  led  him  to  Prospero 
and  Miranda,  who  were  seated  under  the  shade 
of  a large  tree.  Now  Miranda  had  never  seen 
a man  before,  except  her  own  father. 

“ Miranda,”  said  Prospero,  “ tell  me  what 
you  are  looking  at  yonder.” 

“ O father,”  said  Miranda,  in  a strange  sur- 
prise, “ surely  that  is  a spirit.  Lord  ! how  it 
looks  about  ! Believe  me,  sir,  it  is  a beautiful 
creature.  Is  it  not  a spirit  ? ” 

“ No,  girl,”  answered  her  father;  “ it  eats, 
and  sleeps,  and  has  senses  such  as  we  have. 
This  young  man  you  see  was  in  the  ship.  He 
is  somewhat  altered  by  grief,  or  you  might 
call  him  a handsome  person.  He  has  lost  his 
companions,  and  is  wandering  about  to  find 
them.” 

Miranda,  who  thought  all  men  had  grave  faces 
and  gray  beards  like  her  father,  was  delighted 
with  the  appearance  of  this  beautiful  young 
prince  ; and  Ferdinand,  seeing  such  a lovely 
lady  in  this  desert  place,  and  from  the  strange 
sounds  he  had  heard,  expected  nothing  but 
wonders,  thought  he  was  upon  an  enchanted 
island,  and  that  Miranda  was  the  goddess  of 
the  place,  and  as  such  he  began  to  address 
her. 

She  timidly  answered,  she  was  no  goddess, 
but  a simple  maid,  and  was  going  to  give  an 
account  of  herself,  when  Prospero  interrupted 
her.  He  was  well  pleased  to  find  they  admired 
each  other,  for  he  plainly  perceived  they  had 


THE  TEMPEST 


*8S 

(as  we  say)  fallen  in  love  at  first  sight : but  to 
try  Ferdinand’s  constancy,  he  resolved  to  throw 
some  difficulties  in  their  way  : therefore  advanc- 
ing forward,  he  addressed  the  prince  with  a 
stern  air,  telling  him,  he  came  to  the  island  as 
a spy,  to  take  it  from  him  who  was  the  lord  of 
it.  “ Follow  me,”  said  he,  “ I will  tie  your  neck 
and  feet  together.  You  shall  drink  sea-water  : 
shell-fish,  withered  roots,  and  husks  of  acorns 
shall  be  your  food.”  “ No,”  said  Ferdinand, 
“ I will  resist  such  entertainment  till  I see  a 
more  powerful  enemy,”  and  drew  his  sword  : 
but  Prospero,  waving  his  magic  wand,  fixed  him 
to  the  spot  where  he  stood,  so  that  he  had  no 
power  to  move. 

Miranda  hung  upon  her  father,  saying,  “ Why 
are  you  so  ungentle  ? Have  pity,  sir  ; I will 
be  his  surety.  This  is  the  second  man  I ever 
saw,  and  to  me  he  seems  a true  one.” 

“ Silence,”  said  her  father,  “ one  word  more 
will  make  me  chide  you,  girl ! What  ! an  advo- 
cate for  an  impostor  ! You  think  there  are  no 
more  such  fine  men,  having  seen  only  him  and 
Caliban.  I tell  you,  foolish  girl,  most  men  as 
far  excel  this  as  he  does  Caliban.”  This  he 
said  to  prove  his  daughter’s  constancy  ; and 
she  replied,  “ My  affections  are  most  humble. 
I have  no  wish  to  see  a goodlier  man.” 

u Come  on,  young  man,”  said  Prospero  to 
the  Prince,  “ you  have  no  power  to  disobey 
me.” 

“ I have  not  indeed,”  answered  Ferdinand  ; 
and  not  knowing  it  was  by  magic  he  was  de- 


i86 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


prived  of  all  power  of  resistance,  he  was  aston- 
ished to  find  he  was  so  strangely  compelled  to 
follow  Prospero  : looking  back  on  Miranda  as 
long  as  he  could  see  her,  he  said,  as  he  went 
after  Prospero  into  the  cave,  “ My  spirits  are 
all  bound  up,  as  if  I were  in  a dream  ; but  this 
man’s  threats,  and  the  weakness  which  I feel, 
would  seem  light  to  me  if  from  my  prison  I 
might  once  a day  behold  this  fair  maid.” 

Prospero  kept  Ferdinand  not  long  confined 
within  the  cell : he  soon  brought  out  his  pris- 
oner, and  set  him  a severe  task  to  perform,  tak- 
ing care  to  let  his  daughter  know  the  hard  labor 
he  had  imposed  on  him,  and  then  pretending 
to  go  into  his  study,  he  secretly  watched  them 
both. 

Prospero  had  commanded  Ferdinand  to  pile 
up  some  heavy  logs  of  wood.  King’s  sons  not 
being  much  used  to  laborious  work,  Miranda 
soon  after  found  her  lover  almost  dying  with 
fatigue.  “ Alas  ! ” said  she,  “ do  not  work  so 
hard  ; my  father  is  at  his  studies  ; he  is  safe 
for  these  three  hours  : pray  rest  yourself.” 

“ O my  dear  lady,”  said  Ferdinand,  “ I dare 
not.  I must  finish  my  task  before  I take  my 
rest.” 

“ If  you  will  sit  down,”  said  Miranda,  “ I will 
carry  your  logs  the  while.”  But  this  Ferdi 
nand  would  by  no  means  agree  to.  Instead  of 
a help,  Miranda  became  a hindrance,  for  they 
began  a long  conversation,  so  that  the  business 
of  log-carrying  went  on  very  slowly. 

Prospero,  who  had  enjoined  Ferdinand  this 


THE  TEMPEST. 


1 87 


task  merely  as  a trial  of  his  love,  was  not  at  his 
books  as  his  daughter  supposed,  but  was  stand- 
ing by  them  invisible,  to  overhear  what  they 
said. 

Ferdinand  inquired  her  name,  which  she  told 
him,  saying  it  was  against  her  father’s  express 
command  she  did  so. 

Prospero  only  smiled  at  this  first  instance  of 
his  daughter’s  disobedience,  for  having  by  his 
magic  art  caused  his  daughter  to  fall  in  love  so 
suddenly  he  was  not  angry  that  she  showed  her 
love  by  forgetting  to  obey  his  commands.  And 
he  listened  well  pleased  to  a long  speech  of 
Ferdinand’s,  in  which  he  professed  to  love  her 
above  all  the  ladies  he  ever  saw. 

In  answer  to  his  praises  of  her  beauty,  which 
he  said  exceeded  all  the  women  in  the  world, 
she  replied,  “ I do  not  remember  the  face  of 
any  woman,  nor  have  I seen  any  more  men 
than  you,  my  good  friend,  and  my  dear  father. 
How  features  are  abroad  I know  not ; but 
believe  me,  sir,  I would  not  wish  any  compan- 
ion in  the  world  but  you,  nor  can  my  imagina- 
tion form  any  shape  but  y urs  that  I could  like. 
But,  sir,  I fear  I talk  to  you  too  freely,  and  my 
father’s  precepts  I forget.  ’ 

At  this  Prospero  smiled,  and  nodded  his 
head,  as  much  as  to  say,  “ This  goes  on  exactly 
as  I could  wish  ; my  girl  will  be  queen  of 
Naples.” 

And  then  Ferdinand,  in  another  fine  long 
speech  (for  young  princes  speak  in  courtly 
phrases),  told  the  innocent  Miranda  he  was 


i88 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


heir  to  the  crown  of  Naples,  and  that  she  should 
be  his  queen. 

“ Ah  ! sir,”  said  she,  “ I am  a fool  to  weep 
at  what  I am  glad  of.  I will  answer  you  in 
plain  and  holy  innocence.  I am  your  wife,  if 
you  will  marry  me.” 

Prospero  prevented  Ferdinand’s  thanks  by 
appearing  visible  before  them. 

“ Fear  nothing,  my  child,”  said  he  ; I have 
overheard,  and  approve  of  all  you  have  said. 
And  Ferdinand,  if  I have  too  severely  used  you, 
I will  make  you  rich  amends,  by  giving  you  my 
daughter.  All  your  vexations  were  but  my 
trials  of  your  love,  and  you  have  nobly  stood 
the  test.  Then  as  my  gift,  which  your  true 
love  has  worthily  purchased,  take  my  daughter, 
and  do  not  smile  that  I boast  she  is  above  all 
praise.”  He  then,  telling  them  that  he  had 
business  which  required  his  presence,  desired 
they  would  sit  down  and  talk  together,  till  he 
returned  ; and  this  command  Miranda  seemed 
not  at  all  disposed  to  disobey. 

When  Prospero  left  them,  he  called  his 
spirit  An^\  who  quickly  appeared  before  him, 
eager  to  relate  what  he  had  done  with  Pros- 
pero’s  brother  and  the  king  of  Naples.  Ariel 
said,  he  had  left  them  almost  out  of  their 
senses  with  fear  at  the  strange  things  he  had 
caused  them  to  see  and  hear.  When  fatigued 
with  wanaering  about,  and  famished  for  want 
of  food,  he  had  suddenly  set  before  them  a 
delicious  banquet,  and  then,  just  as  they  were 
going  to  eat,  he  appeared  visible  before  them 


THE  TEMPEST 


189 

in  the  shape  of  a harpy,  a voracious  monster 
with  wings,  and  the  feast  vanished  away. 
Then,  to  their  utter  amazement,  this  seeming 
harpy  spoke  to  them,  reminding  them  of  their 
cruelty  in  driving  Prospero  from  his  dukedom, 
and  leaving  him  and  his  infant  daughter  to 
perish  in  the  sea  ; saying,  that  for  this  cause 
these  terrors  were  suffered  to  afflict  them. 

The  king  of  Naples,  and  Antonio  the  false 
brother,  repented  the  injustice  they  had  done 
to  Prospero  : and  Ariel  told  his  master  he  was 
certain  their  penitence  was  sincere,  and  that 
he,  though  a spirit,  could  not  but  pity  them. 

“ Then  bring  them  hither,  Ariel,”  said  Pros- 
pero : “ if  you,  who  are  but  a spirit,  feel  for 
their  distress,  shall  not  I,  who  am  a human 
being  like  themselves,  have  compassion  on 
them  ? Bring  theip  quickly,  my  dainty  Ariel.” 

Ariel  soon  returned  with  the  king,  Antonio, 
and  old  Gonzalo  in  their  train,  who  had  fol- 
lowed him  wondering  at  the  wild  music  he 
played  in  the  air  to  draw  them  on  to  his 
master’s  presence.  This  Gonzalo  was  the 
same  who  had  so  kindly  provided  Prospero 
formerly  with  books  and  provisions,  when  his 
wicked  brother  left  him,  as  he  thought,  to 
perish  in  an  open  boat  in  the  sea. 

Grief  and  terror  had  so  stupefied  their 
senses,  that  they  did  not  know  Prospero.  He 
first  discovered  himself  to  the  good  old  Gon- 
zalo, calling  him  the  preserver  of  his  life  ; and 
then  his  brother  and  the  king  knew  that  he 
was  the  injured  Prospero. 


I go  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 

Antonio  with  tears,  and  sad  words  of  sorrow 
and  true  repentance,  implored  his  brother’s 
forgiveness ; and  the  king  expressed  his  sin- 
cere remorse  for  having  assisted  Antonio  to 
depose  his  brother  : and  Prospero  forgave 
them  ; and,  upon  their  engaging  to  restore  his 
dukedom,  he  said  to  the  king  of  Naples,  “I 
have  a gift  in  store  for  you  too  ; ” and  opening 
a door,  showed  him  his  son  Ferdinand  playing 
at  chess  with  Miranda. 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  joy  of  the  father 
and  the  son  at  this  unexpected  meeting,  for 
they  each  thought  the  other  drowned  in  the 
storm. 

“ O wonder  ! ” said  Miranda,  “what  noble 
creatures  these  are  ; it  must  surely  be  a brave 
world  that  has  such  people  in  it.” 

The  king  of  Naples  was  ajmost  as  much  as- 
tonished at  the  beauty  and  excellent  grace  of 
the  young  Miranda  as  his  son  had  been. 
“ Who  is  this  maid  ? ” said  he ; “ she  seems 
the  goddess  that  has  parted  us,  and  brought 
us  thus  together.”  “ No,  sir,”  answered  Fer- 
dinand, smiling  to  find  his  father  had  fallen 
into  the  same  mistake  that  he  had  done  when 
he  first  saw  Miranda,  “ she  is  a mortal,  but  by 
immortal  Providence  she  is  mine  ; I chose  her 
when  I could  not  ask  you,  my  father,  for  your 
consent,  not  thinking  you  were  alive.  She  is 
the  daughter  to  this  Prospero,  who  is  the  fa- 
mous duke  of  Milan,  of  whose  renown  I have 
heard  so  much,  but  never  saw  him  till  now  ; 
of  him  I have  received  a new  life  : he  has 


THE  TEMPEST. 


i9i 

made  himself  to  me  a second  father,  giving 
me  this  dear  lady.” 

“ Then  I must  be  her  father,”  said  the  king  : 
“ but  oh  ! how  oddly  will  it  sound  that  I must 
ask  my  child’s  forgiveness.” 

“ No  more  of  that,”  said  Prospero  : let  us 
not  remember  our  troubles  past,  since  they  so 
happily  have  ended.”  And  then  Prospero 
embraced  his  brother,  and  again  assured  him 
of  his  forgiveness  ; and  said  that  a wise,  over- 
ruling Providence  had  permitted  that  he  should 
be  driven  from  his  poor  dukedom  of  Milan, 
that  his  daughter  might  inherit  the  crown  of 
Naples,  for  that  by  their  meeting  in  this  desert 
island,  it  had  happened  that  the  king’s  son  had 
loved  Miranda. 

These  kind  words  which  Prospero  spoke, 
meaning  to  comfort  his  brother,  so  filled  An- 
tonio with  shame  and  remorse,  that  he  wept 
and  was  unable  to  speak;  and  the  kind  old 
Gonzalo  wept  to  see  this  joyful  reconciliation, 
and  prayed  for  blessings  on  the  young  couple. 

Prospero  now  told  them  that  their  ship  was 
safe  in  the  harbor,  and  the  sailors  all  on  board 
her,  and  that  he  and  his  daughter  would  ac- 
company them  home  the  next  morning.  “ In 
the  meantime,”  said  he,  “ partake  of  such  re- 
freshments as  my  poor  cave  affords  ; and  for 
your  evening’s  entertainment  I will  relate  the 
history  of  my  life  from  my  first  landing  in  this 
desert  island.”  He  then  called  for  Caliban  to 
prepare  some  food,  and  set  the  cave  in  order ; 
and  the  company  were  astonished  at  the  un- 


1 9 2 TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 

couth  form  and  savage  appearance  of  this  ugly 
monster,  who  (Prospero  said)  was  the  only 
attendant  he  had  to  wait  upon  him. 

Before  Prospero  left  the  island,  he  dis- 
missed Ariel  from  his  service,  to  the  great  joy 
of  that  lively  little  spirit,  who  though  he  had 
been  a faithful  servant  to  his  master,  was 
always  longing  to  enjoy  his  free  liberty,  to 
wander  uncontrolled  in  the  air,  like  a wild  bird, 
under  green  trees,  among  pleasant  fruits,  and 
sweet-smelling  flowers.  u My  quaint  Ariel,' ” 
said  Prospero  to  the  little  sprite  when  he 
made  him  free,  “ I shall  miss  you  ; yet  you 
shall  have  your  freedom.’’  “ Thank  you,  my 
dear  master,”  said  Ariel  ; “ but  give  me  leave 
to  attend  your  ship  home  with  prosperous 
gales,  before  you  bid  farewell  to  the  assistance 
of  your  faithful  spirit ; and  then,  master,  when 
I am  free,  how  merrily  I shall  live  ! ” Here 
Ariel  sung  this  pretty  song  : 

“ Where  the  bee  sucks,  there  suck  I ; 

In  a cowslip’s  bell  I lie : 

There  I couch  when  owls  do  cry. 

On  the  bat’s  back  I do  fly 
After  summer  merrily. 

Merrily,  merrily,  shall  I live  now, 

Under  the  blossom  that  hangs  on  the  bough.” 

Prospero  then  buried  deep  in  the  earth  his 
magical  books  and  wand,  for  he  was  resolved 
never  more  to  make  use  of  the  magic  art.  And 
having  thus  overcome  his  enemies,  and  being 
reconciled  to  his  brother  and  the  king  of 
Naples,  nothing  now  remained  to  complete  his 


THE  TEMPEST. 


*93 


happiness,  but  to  revisit  his  native  land,  to 
take  possession  of  his  dukedom,  and  to  wit- 
ness the  happy  nuptials  of  his  daughter 
Miranda  and  Prince  Ferdinand,  which  the 
king  said  should  be  instantly  celebrated  with 
great  splendor  on  their  return  to  Naples.  At 
which  place,  under  the  safe  convoy  of  the 
spirit  Ariel,  they  after  a pleasant  voyage  soon 
arrived. 

!3 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


During  the  time  that  France  was  divided 
into  provinces  (or  dukedoms  as  they  were 
called)  there  reigned  in  one  of  these  provinces 
an  usurper  who  had  deposed  and  banished  his 
elder  brother,  the  lawful  duke. 

The  duke,  who  was  thus  driven  from  his 
dominions,  retired  with  a few  faithful  followers 
to  the  forest  of  Arden  : and  here  the  good 
duke  lived  with  his  loving  friends,  who  had 
put  themselves  into  a voluntary  exile  for  his 
sake,  while  their  land  and  revenues  enriched 
the  false  usurper;  and  custom  soon  made  the 
life  of  careless  ease  they  led  here  more  sweet 
to  them  than  the  pomp  and  uneasy  splendor 
of  a courtier’s  life.  Here  they  lived  like  the 
old  Robin  Hood  of  England,  and  to  this  forest 
many  noble  youths  daily  resorte‘d  from  the 
court,  and  did  fleet  the  time  carelessly,  as  they 
did  who  lived  in  the  golden  age.  In  the 
summer  they  lay  along  under  the  fine  shade  of 
the  large  forest  trees,  marking  the  playful 
sports  of  the  wild  deer  ; and  so  fond  were  they 
of  these  poor  dappled  fools,  who  seemed  to  be 
the  native  inhabitants  of  the  forest,  that  it 
grieved  them  to  be  forced  to  kill  them  to  sup- 
ply themselves  with  venison  for  their  food. 
When  the  cold  winds  of  winter  made  the  duke 
194 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


195 


feel  the  change  of  his  adverse  fortune,  he  would 
endure  it  patiently  and  say,  “ These  chilling 
winds  which  blow  upon  my  body  are  true 
counselors  : they  do  not  flatter,  but  represent 
truly  to  me  my  condition  : and  though  they 
bite  sharply,  their  tooth  is  nothing  like  so  keen 
as  that  of  unkindness  and  ingratitude.  I find 
that,  howsoever  men  speak  against  adversity, 
yet  some  sweet  uses  are  to  be  extracted  from 
it;  like  the  jewel,  precious  for  medicine,  which 
is  taken  from  the  head  of  the  venomous  and 
despised  toad.”  In  this  manner  did  the 
patient  duke  draw  a useful  moral  from  every- 
thing that  he  saw  ; and  by  the  help  of  this 
moralizing  turn,  in  that  life  of  his,  remote  from 
public  haunts,  he  could  find  tongues  in  trees, 
books  in  the  running  brooks,  sermons  in  stones, 
and  good  in  everything. 

The  banished  duke  had  an  only  daughter, 
named  Rosalind,  whom  the  usurper,  duke 
Frederick,  when  he  banished  her  father,  still 
retained  in  his  court  as  a companion  for  his 
own  daughter  Celia.  A strict  friendship  sub- 
sisted'between  these  ladies,  which  the  disagree- 
ment between  their  fathers  did  not  in  the  least 
interrupt,  Celia  striving  by  every  kindness  in 
her  power  to  make  amends  to  Rosalind  for  the 
injustice  of  her  own  father  in  deposing  the 
father  of  Rosalind,  and  whenever  the  thoughts 
of  her  father’s  banishment  and  her  own 
dependence  on  the  false  usurper  made  Rosa- 
lind melancholy,  Celia’s  whole  care  was  to 
comfort  and  console  her. 


196  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 

One  day,  when  Celia  was  talking  in  her 
usual  kind  manner  to  Rosalind,  saying,  “ I pray 
you,  Rosalind,  my  sweet  cousin,  be  merry,”  a 
messenger  entered  from  the  duke,  to  tell  them 
that  if  they  wished  to  see  a wrestling  match, 
which  was  just  going  to  begin,  they  must  come 
instantly  to  the  court  before  the  palace  ; and 
Celia,  thinking  it  would  amuse  Rosalind,  agreed 
to  go  and  see  it. 

In  those  times  wrestling,  which  is  only 
practiced  now  by  country  clowns,  was  a favor- 
ite sport  even  in  the  courts  of  princes,  and 
before  fair  ladies  and  princesses.  To  this 
wrestling  match  therefore  Celia  and  Rosalind 
went  They  found  that  it  was  likely  to  prove 
a very  tragical  sight ; for  a large  and  powerful 
man,  who  had  long  been  practiced  in  the  art 
of  wrestling,  and  had  slain  many  men  in  con- 
tests of  this  kind,  was  just  going  to  wrestle  with 
a very  young  man,  who,  from  his  extreme  youth 
and  inexperience  in  the  art,  the  beholders  all 
thought  would  certainly  be  killed. 

When  the  duke  saw  Celia  and  Rosalind,  he 
said,  “ How  now,  daughter  and  niece,  are  you 
crept  hither  to  see  the  wrestling?  You  will 
take  little  delight  in  it,  there  is  such  odds  in 
the  men  : in  pity  to  this  young  man,  I would 
wish  to  persuade  him  from  wrestling.  Speak 
to  him,  ladies,  and  see  if  you  can  move  him.” 

The  ladies  were  well-pleased  to  perform  this 
humane  office,  and  first  Celia  entreated  the 
young  stranger  that  he  would  desist  from  the 
attempt ; and  then  Rosalind  spoke  so  kindly 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


1 97 


to  him,  and  with  such  feeling  consideration  for 
the  danger  he  was  about  to  undergo,  that  in- 
stead of  being  persuaded  by  her  gentle  words 
to  forego  his  purpose,  all  his  thoughts  were 
bent  to  distinguish  himself  by  his  courage  in 
this  lovely  lady’s  eyes.  He  refused  the  re- 
quest of  Celia  and  Rosalind  in  such  graceful 
and  modest  words,  that  they  felt  still  more  con- 
cern for  him  ; he  concluded  his  refusal  with 
saying,  “ I am  sorry  to  deny  such  fair  and  ex- 
cellent ladies  anything.  But  let  your  fair  eyes 
and  gentle  wishes  go  with  me  to  my  trial, 
wherein  if  I be  conquered,  there  is  one  shamed 
that  was  never  gracious ; if  I am  killed,  there 
is  one  dead  that  is  willing  to  die.  I shall  do 
my  friends  no  wrong,  for  I have  none  to  lament 
me  ; the  world  no  injury,  for  in  it  I have  noth- 
ing ; for  I only  fill  up  a place  in  the  world 
which  may  be  better  supplied  when  I have 
made  it  empty.” 

And  now  the  wrestling  match  began.  Celia 
wished  the  young  stranger  might  not  be  hurt ; 
but  Rosalind  felt  most  for  him.  The  friend- 
less >state  which  he  said  he  was  in,  and  that  he 
wished  to  die,  made  Rosalind  think  that  he 
was,  like  herself,  unfortunate  ; and  she  pitied 
him  so  much,  and  so  deep  an  interest  she  took 
in  his  danger  while  he  was  wrestling,  that  she 
might  almost  be  said  at  that  moment  to  have 
fallen  in  love  with  him. 

The  kindness  shown  this  unknown  youth  by 
these  fair  and  noble  ladies  gave  him  courage 
and  strength,  so  that  he  performed  wonders ; 


jgS  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 

and  in  the  end  completely  conquered  his  antag- 
onist, who  was  so  much  hurt,  that  for  a while 
he  was  unable  to  speak  or  move. 

The  duke  Frederick  was  much  pleased  with 
the  courage  and  skill  shown  by  this  young 
stranger  ; and  desired  to  know  his  name  and 
parentage,  meaning  to  take  him  under  his  pro- 
tection. 

The  stranger  said  his  name  was  Orlando,  and 
that  he  was  the  youngest  son  of  Sir  Rowland 
de  Boys. 

Sir  Rowland  de  Boys,  the  father  of  Orlando, 
had  been  dead  some  years  ; but  when  he  was 
living  he  had  been  a true  subject  and  dear  friend 
of  the  banished  duke:  therefore  when  Frederick 
heard  Orlando  was  the  son  of  his  banished 
brother’s  friend,  all  his  liking  for  this  brave 
young  man  was  changed  into  displeasure,  and 
he  left  the  place  in  very  ill  humor.  Hating 
to  hear  the  very  name  of  any  of  his  brother's 
friends,  and  yet  still  admiring  the  valor  of  the 
youth,  he  said,  as  he  went  out,  that  he  wished 
Orlando  had  been  the  son  of  any  other  man. 

Rosalind  was  delighted  to  hear  that  her  new 
favorite  was  the  son  of  her  father’s  old  friend  ; 
and  she  said  to  Celia,  “ My  father  loved  Sir  Row- 
land de  Boys,  and  if  I had  known  this  young 
man  was  his  son,  I would  have  added  tears  to 
my  entreaties  before  he  should  have  ventured.” 

The  ladies  then  went  up  to  him  ; and  seeing 
him  abashed  by  the  sudden  displeasure  shown 
by  the  duke,  they  spoke  kind  and  encouraging 
words  to  him ; and  Rosalind,  when  they 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT \ 


199 


were  going  away,  turned  back  to  speak  some 
more  civil  things  to  the  brave  young  son  of 
her  father’s  old  friend  ; and  taking  a chain 
from  off  her  neck,  she  said,  “ Gentleman,  wear 
this  for  me.  I am  out  of  suits  with  fortune, 
or  I would  give  you  a more  valuable  present.” 

When  the  ladies  were  alone,  Rosalind’s  talk 
being  still  of  Orlando,  Celia  began  to  perceive 
her  cousin  had  fallen  in  love  with  the  handsome 
young  wrestler,  and  she  said  to  Rosalind,  “ Is 
it  possible  you  should  fall  in  love  so  suddenly  ? ” 
Rosalind  replied,  “ The  duke,  my  father,  loved 
his  father  dearly.”  “ But,”  said  Celia,  “ does 
it  therefore  follow  that  you  should  love  his  son 
dearly  ? for  then  I ought  to  hate  him,  -for  my 
father  hated  his  father  ; yet  I do  not  hate 
Orlando.” 

Frederick  being  enraged  at  the  sight  of 
sir  Rowland  de  Boys’  son,  which  reminded 
him  of  the  many  friends  the  banished  duke  had 
among  the  nobility,  and  having  been  for  some 
time  displeased  with  his  niece,  because  the 
people  praised  her  for  her  virtues  and  pitied  her 
for  her  good  father’s  sake,  his  malice  suddenly 
broke  out  against  her  ; and  while  Celia  and 
Rosalind  were  talking  of  Orlando,  Frederick 
entered  the  room,  and  with  looks  full  of  anger 
ordered  Rosalind  instantly  to  leave  the  palace, 
and  follow  her  father  into  banishment ; telling 
Celia,  who  in  vain  pleaded  for  her,  that  he  had 
only  suffered  Rosalind  to  stay  upon  her  ac- 
count. “ I did  not  then,”  said  Celia,  “ entreat 
you  to  let  her  stay : for  I was  too  young  at 


200 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


that  time  to  value  her  ; but  now  that  I know 
her  worth,  and  that  we  so  long  have  slept  to- 
gether, rose  at  the  same  instant,  learned, 
played,  and  eat  together,  I cannot  live  out  of 
her  company.”  Frederick  replied,  “ She  is  too 
subtle  for  you  ; her  smoothness,  her  very 
silence,  and  her  patience,  speak  to  the  people, 
and  they  pity  her.  You  are  a fool  to  plead  for 
her,  for  you  will  seem  more  bright  and  virtuous 
when  she  is  gone  ; therefore  open  not  your  lips 
in  her  favor,  for  the  doom  which  I have  passed 
upon  her  is  irrevocable.” 

When  Celia  found  she  could  not  prevail  upon 
her  father  to  let  Rosalind  remain  with  her,  she 
generously  resolved  to  accompany  her ; and, 
leaving  her  father's  palace  that  night,  she  went 
along  with  her  friend  to  seek  Rosalind’s  father, 
the  banished  duke,  in  the  forest  of  Arden. 

Before  they  set  out,  Celia  considered  that 
it  would  be  unsafe  for  two  young  ladies  to 
travel  in  the  rich  clothes  they  then  wore  : she 
therefore  proposed  that  they  should  disguise 
their  rank  by  dressing  themselves  like  country 
maids.  Rosalind  said  it  would  be  a still  greater 
protection  if  one  of  them  was  to  be  dressed 
like  a man ; and  so  it  was  quickly  agreed  on 
between  them,  that  as  Rosalind  was  the 
tallest,  she  should  wear  the  dress  of  a young 
countryman,  and  Celia  should  be  habited 
like  a country  lass,  and  that  they  should  say 
they  were  brother  and  sister,  and  Rosalind 
said  she  would  be  called  Ganimed,  and  Celia 
chose  the  name  of  Aliena. 


AS  you  LIKE  IT : 


201 


In  this  disguise,  and  taking  their  money 
and  jewels  to  defray  their  expenses,  these  fair 
princesses  set  out  on  their  long  travel  ; for  the 
forest  of  Arden  was  a long  way  off,  beyond 
the  boundaries  of  the  duke’s  dominions. 

The  lady  Rosalind  (or  Ganimed  as  she 
must  now  be  called)  with  her  manly  garb 
seemed  to  have  put  on  a manly  courage.  The 
faithful  friendship  Celia  had  shown  in  accom- 
panying Rosalind  so  many  weary  miles  made 
the  new  brother,  in  recompense  for  this  true 
love,  exert  a cheerful  spirit,  as  if  he  were 
indeed  Ganimed,  the  rustic  and  stout-hearted 
brother  of  the  gentle  village  maiden,  Aliena. 

When  at  last  they  came  to  the  forest  of 
Arden,  they  no  longer  found  the  convenient 
inns  and  good  accommodations  they  had  met 
with  on  the  road  ; and  being  in  want  of  food 
and  rest,  Ganimed,  who  had  so  merrily  cheered 
his  sister  with  pleasant  speeches  and  happy 
remarks  all  the  way,  now  owned  to  Aliena 
that  he  was  so  weary,  he  could  find  in  his 
heiart  to  disgrace  his  man’s  apparel,  and  cry 
like  a woman';  and  Aliena  declared  she  could 
go  no  farther ; and  then  again  Ganimed  tried 
to  recollect  that  it  was  a man’s  duty  to  comfort 
and  console  a woman,  as  the  weaker  vessel  : 
and  to  seem  courageous  to  his  new  sister,  he 
said,  “ Come,  have  a good  heart,  my  sister 
Aliena;  we  are  now  at  the  end  of  our  travel, 
in  the  forest  of  Arden.”  But  feigned  manli- 
ness and  forced  courage  would  no  longer  sup- 
port them  ; for  though  they  were  in  the  forest 


202 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


of  Arden,  they  knew  not  where  to  find  the 
duke  : and  here  the  travel  of  these  weary  ladies 
might  have  come  to  a sad  conclusion,  for 
they  might  have  lost  themselves,  and  have 
perished  for  want  of  food  ; but,  providentially, 
as  they  were  sitting  on  the  grass,  almost  dying 
with  fatigue  and  hopeless  of  any  relief,  a 
countryman  chanced  to  pass  that  way,  and 
Ganimed  once  more  tried  to  speak  with  a 
manly  boldness,  saying,  “ Shepherd,  if  love  or 
gold  can  in  this  desert  place  procure  us  enter- 
tainment, I pray  you  bring  us  where  we  may 
rest  ourselves  ; for  this  young  maid,  my  sister, 
is  much  fatigued  with  traveling,  and  faints 
for  want  of  food.” 

The  man  replied,  that  he  was  only  servant 
to  a shepherd,  and  that  his  master’s  house  was 
just  going  to  be  sold,  and  therefore  they  would 
find  but  poor  entertainment ; but  that  if  they 
would  go  with  him,  they  should  be  welcome 
to  what  there  was.  They  followed  the  man, 
the  near  prospect  of  relief  giving  them  fresh 
strength ; and  bought  the  house  and  sheep 
of  the  shepherd,  and  took  the  man  who  con- 
ducted them  to  the  shepherd’s  house,  to  wait 
on  them  ; and  being  by  this  means  so  fortu- 
nately provided  with  a neat  cottage,  and  well 
supplied  with  provisions,  they  agreed  to  stay 
here  till  they  could  learn  in  what  part  of  the 
forest  the  duke  dwelt. 

When  they  were  rested  after  the  fatigue  of 
their  journey,  they  began  to  like  their  new 
way  of  life,  and  almost  fancied  themselves  the 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT, 


203 


shepherd  and  shepherdess  they  feigned  to  be ; 
yet  sometimes  Ganimed  remembered  he  had 
once  been  the  same  lady  Rosalind  who  had  so 
dearly  loved  the  brave  Orlando,  because  he  was 
the  son  of  old  Sir  Rowland,  her  father’s  friend  ; 
and  though  Ganimed  though  that  Orlando 
was  many  miles  distant,  even  so  many  weary 
miles  as  they  had  traveled,  yet  it  soon  ap- 
peared that  Orlando  was  also  in  the  forest  of 
Arden  : and  in  this  manner  this  strange  event 
came  to  pass. 

Orlando  was  the  youngest  son  of  Sir  Rowland 
de  Boys,  who,  when  he  died,  left  him  (Orlando 
being  then  very  young)  to  the  care  of  his  eldest 
brother  Oliver,  charging  Oliver,  on  his  bless- 
ing, to  give  his  brother  a good  education,  and 
provide  for  him  as  became  the  dignity  of  their 
ancient  house.  Oliver  proved  an  unworthy 
brother ; and  disregarding  the  commands  of 
his  dying  father,  he  never  put  his  brother  to 
school,  but  kept  him  at  home  untaught  and 
entirely  neglected.  But  in  his  nature  and  in 
the  noble  qualities  of  his  mind  Orlando  so 
much  resembled  his  excellent  father,  that 
without  any  advantages  of  education  he 
seemed  like  a youth  who  had  been  bred  with 
the  utmost  care  ; and  Oliver  so  envied  the  fine 
person  and  dignified  manners  of  his  untutored 
brother,  that  at  last  he  wished  to  destroy  him  ; 
and  to  effect  this  he  set  on  people  to  persuade 
him  to  wrestle  with  the  famous  wrestler  who, 
as  has  been  before  related,  had  killed  so  many 
men.  Now  it  was  this  cruel  brother’s  neglect 


204  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 

of  him  which  made  Orlando  say  he  wished  to 
die,  being  so  friendless. 

When,  contrary  to  the  wicked  hopes  he  had 
formed,  his  brother  proved  victorious,  his 
envy  and  malice  knew  no  bounds,  and  he 
swore  he  would  burn  the  chamber  where 
Orlando  slept.  He  was  overheard  making 
this  vow  by  one  that  had  been  an  old  and 
faithful  servant  to  their  father,  and  that  loved 
Orlando  because  he  resembled  Sir  Rowland. 
This  old  man  went  out  to  meet  him  when  he 
returned  from  the  duke’s  palace,  and  when  he 
saw  Orlando,  the  peril  his  dear  young  master 
was  in  made  him  break  out  into  these  passion- 
ate exclamations  : “ O my  gentle  master, 

my  sweet  master,  O you  memory  of  old 
Sir  Rowland  ! why  are  you  virtuous  ? why 
are  you  gentle,  strong,  and  valiant  ? and 
why  would  you  be  so  fond  to  overcome  the 
famous  wrestler  ? Your  phrase  is  come  too 
swiftly  home  before  you.”  Orlando,  wondering 
what  all  this  meant,  asked  him  what  was  the 
matter.  And  then  the  old  man  told  him  how 
his  wicked  brother,  envying  the  love  all  people 
bore  him,  and  now  hearing  the  fame  he  had 
gained  by  his  victory  in  the  duke’s  palace, 
intended  to  destroy  him  by  setting  fire  to  his 
chamber  that  night ; and  in  conclusion,  advised 
him  to  escape  the  danger  he  was  in  by  instant 
flight  : and  knowing  Orlando  had  no  money, 
Adam  (for  that  was  the  good  old  man’s  name) 
had  brought  out  with  him  his  own  little  hoard, 
and  he  said,  “ I have  five  hundred  crowns,  the 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


205 


thrifty  hire  I saved  under  your  father,  and 
laid  by  to  be  provision  for  me  when  my  old 
limbs  should  become  unfit  for  service  ; take 
that,  and  He  that  doth  the  ravens  feed  be 
comfort  to  my  age  ! Here  is  the  gold  ; all 
this  I give  to  you  : let  me  be  your  servant ; 
though  I look  old,  I will  do  the  service  of  a 
younger  man  in  all  your  business  and  neces- 
sities. “ O good  old  man  ! ” said  Orlando, 
44  how  well  appears  in  you  the  constant  service 
of  the  old  world  ! You  are  not  for  the  fashion 
of  these  times.  We  will  go  along  together, 
and  before  your  youthful  wages  are  spent  I 
shall  light  upon  some  means  for  both  our 
maintenance.” 

Together  then  this  faithful  servant  and  his 
loved  master  set  out ; and  Orlando  and  Adam 
traveled  on,  uncertain  what  course  to  pursue, 
till  they  came  to  the  forest  of  Arden,  and  there 
they  found  themselves  in  the  same  distress  for 
want  of  food  that  Ganimed  and  Aliena  had 
been.  They  wandered  on,  seeking  some 
human  habitation,  till  they  were  almost  spent 
with  hunger  and  fatigue.  Adam  at  last  said, 
“ O my  dear  master,  I die  for  want  of  food — I 
can  go  no  farther  ! ” He  then  laid  himself 
down,  thinking  to  make  that  place  his  grave, 
and  bade  his  dear  master  farewell.  Orlando, 
seeing  him  in  this  weak  state,  took  his  old 
servant  up  in  his  arms,  and  carried  him  under 
the  shelter  of  some  pleasant  trees  ; and  he 
said  to  him,  “ Cheerly,  old  Adam,  rest  your 
weary  limbs  here  a while,  and  do  not  talk  of 
dying  ! ” 


206  tales  from  shakspeare . 


Orlando  then  searched  about  to  find  some 
food,  and  he  happened  to  arrive  at  that  part 
of  the  forest  where  the  duke  was  ; and  he  and 
his  friends  were  just  going  to  eat  their  dinner, 
this  royal  duke  being  seated  on  the  grass, 
under  no  other  canopy  than  the  shady  cover 
of  some  large  trees. 

Orlando,  whom  hunger  had  made  desperate, 
drew  his  sword,  intending  to  take  their  meat 
by  force,  and  said,  “ Forbear,  and  eat  no  more  ; 
I must  have  your  food  ! ” The  duke  asked 
him  if  distress  had  made  him  so  bold,  or  if  he 
were  a rude  despiser  of  good  manners  ? On 
this  Orlando  said  he  was  dying  with  hunger  ; 
and  then  the  duke  told  him  he  was  welcome 
to  sit  down  and  eat  with  them.  Orlando, 
hearing  him  speak  so  gently,  put  up  his  sword, 
and  blushed  with  shame  at  the  rude  manner 
in  which  he  had  demanded  their  food. 
“ Pardon  me,  I pray  you,”  said  he  : “ I thought 
that  all  things  had  been  savage  here,  and 
therefore  I put  on  the  countenance  of  stern 
command ; but  whatever  men  you  are,  that  in 
this  desert,  under  the  shade  of  melancholy 
boughs,  lose  and  neglect  the  creeping  hours  of 
time  : if  ever  you  have  looked  on  better  days  ; 
if  ever  you  have  been  where  bells  have  knolled 
to  church  ; if  you  have  ever  sat  at  any  good 
man’s  feast ; if  ever  from  your  eyelids  you 
have  wiped  a tear,  and  know  what  it  is  to  pity 
or  be  pitied,  may  gentle  speeches  now  move 
you  to  do  me  human  courtesy!”  The  duke 
replied,  “ True  it  is  that  we  are  men  (as  you 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


207 


say)  who  have  seen  better  days,  and  though 
we  have  now  our  habitation  in  this  wild  forest, 
we  have  lived  in  towns  and  cities,  and  have 
with  holy  bell  been  knolled  to  church,  have 
sat  at  good  men’s  feasts,  and  from  our  eyes 
have  wiped  the  drops  which  sacred  pity  has 
engendered  : therefore  sit  ye  down,  and  take 
of  our  refreshment  as  much  as  will  minister  to 
your  wants.”  “ There  is  an  old  poor  man,” 
answered  Orlando,  “ who  has  limped  after  me 
many  a weary  step  in  pure  love,  oppressed  at 
once  with  two  sad  infirmities,  age  and  hunger  ; 
till  he  be  satisfied,  I must  not  touch  a bit.” 
“ Go,  find  him  out,  and  bring  him  hither,”  said 
the  duke  ; “ we  will  forbear  to  eat  till  you 
return.”  Then  Orlando  went  like  a doe  to 
find  its  fawn  and  give  it  food ; and  presently 
returned,  bringing  Adam  in  his  arms  ; and  the 
duke  said,  “ Set  down  your  venerable  burthen  ; 
you  are  both  welcome  : ” and  they  fed  the  old 
man  and  cheered  his  heart,  and  he  revived, 
and  recovered  his  health  and  strength  again. 

The  duke  inquired  who  Orlando  was  : and 
when  he  found  that  he  was  the  son  of  his  old 
friend,  Sir  Rowland  de  Boys,  he  took  him  under 
his  protection,  and  Orlando  and  his  old  servant 
lived  with  the  duke  in  the  forest. 

Orlando  arrived  in  the  forest  not  many  days 
after  Ganimed  and  Aliena  came  there,  and  (as 
has  been  before  related)  bought  the  shepherd’s 
cottage. 

Ganimed  and  Aliena  were  strangely  surprised 
to  find  the  name  of  Rosalind  carved  on  the 


208 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


trees,  and  love-sonnets  fastened  to  them,  all 
addressed  to  Rosalind  : and  while  they  were 
wondering  how  this  could  be,  they  met  Orlando, 
and  they  perceived  the  chain  which  Rosalind 
had  given  him  about  his  neck. 

Orlando  little  thought  that  Ganimed  was  the 
fair  princess  Rosalind,  who,  by  her  noble  con- 
descension and  favor,  had  so  won  his  heart 
that  he  passed  his  whole  time  in  carving  her 
name  upon  the  trees,  and  writing  sonnets  in 
praise  of  her  beauty  : but  being  much  pleased 
with  the  graceful  air  of  this  pretty  shepherd- 
youth,  he  entered  into  conversation  with  him, 
and  he  thought  he  saw  a likeness  in  Ganimed 
to  his  beloved  Rosalind,  but  that  he  had  none 
of  the  dignified  deportment  of  that  noble  lady  ; 
for  Ganimed  assumed  the  forward  manners 
often  seen  in  youths  when  they  are  between 
boys  and  men,  and  with  much  archness  and 
humor  talked  to  Orlando  of  a certain  lover, 
“who,”  said  he,  “haunts  our  forest,  and  spoils 
our  young  trees  with  carving  Rosalind  upon 
their  barks  ; and  he  hangs  odes  upon  hawthorns, 
and  elegies  on  brambles,  all  praising  this  same 
Rosalind.  If  I could  find  this  lover,  I would 
give  him  some  good  counsel  that  would  soon 
cure  him  of  his  love.” 

Orlando  confessed  that  he  was  the  fond 
lover  of  whom  he  spoke,  and  asked  Ganimed 
to  give  him  the  good  counsel  he  talked  of. 
The  remedy  Ganimed  proposed,  and  the 
counsel  he  gave  him,  was  that  Orlando  should 
come  every  day  to  the  cottage  where  he  and 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


209 


his  sister  Aliena  dwelt.  “ And  then,”  said 
Ganimed,  “ I will  feign  myself  to  be  Rosalind, 
and  you  shall  feign  to  court  me  in  the  same 
manner  as  you  would  do  if  I were  Rosalind,  and 
then  I will  imitate  the  fantastic  ways  of  whim- 
sical ladies  to  their  lovers,  till  I make  you 
ashamed  of  your  love  ; and  this  is  the  way  I 
propose  to  cure  you.”  Orlando  had  no  great 
faith  in  the  remedy,  yet  he  agreed  to  come 
every  day  to  Ganimed’s  cottage,  and  feign 
a playful  courtship  ; and  every  day  Orlando 
visited  Ganimed  and  Aliena,  and  Orlando 
called  the  shepherd  Ganimed  his  Rosalind,  and 
every  day  talked  over  all  the  fine  words  and 
flattering  compliments  which  young  men  de- 
light to  use  when  they  court  their  mistresses. 
It  does  not  appear,  however,  that  Ganimed 
made  any  progress  in  curing  Orlando  of  his 
love  for  Rosalind. 

Though  Orlando  thought  all  this  was  but  a 
sportive  play  (not  dreaming  that  Ganimed  was 
his  very  Rosalind),  yet  the  opportunity  it  gave 
him  of  saying  all  the  fond  things  he  had  in  his 
heart,  pleased  his  fancy  almost  as  well  as  it 
did  Ganimed’s,  who  enjoyed  the  secret  jest  in 
knowing  these  fine  love-speeches  were  all 
addressed  to  the  right  person. 

In  this  manner  many  days  passed  pleasantly 
on  with  these  young  people ; and  the  good- 
natured  Aliena,  seeing  it  made  Ganimed  happy, 
let  him  have  his  own  way,  and  was  diverted  at 
the  mock  courtship,  and  did  not  care  to  remind 
Ganimed  that  the  lady  Rosalind  had  not  yet 
14 


210 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


made  herself  known  to  the  duke  her  father, 
whose  place  of  resort  in  the  forest  they  had 
learnt  from  Orlando.  Ganimed  met  the  duke 
one  day,  and  had  some  talk  with  him,  and  the 
duke  asked  of  what  parentage  he  came.  Gani- 
med answered  that  he  came  of  as  good  a paren- 
tage as  he  did  ; which  made  the  duke  smile,  for 
he  did  not  suspect  the  pretty  shepherd-boy 
came  of  royal  lineage.  Then  seeing  the  duke 
look  well  and  happy,  Ganimed  was  content  to 
put  off  all  further  explanation  for  a few  days 
longer. 

One  morning,  as  Orlando  was  going  to  visit 
Ganimed,  he  saw  a man  lying  asleep  on  the 
ground,  and  a large  green  snake  had  twisted 
itself  about  his  neck.  The  snake,  seeing  Or- 
lando approach,  glided  away  among  the  bushes. 
Orlando  went  nearer,  and  then  he  discovered 
a lioness  lie  couching,  with  her  head  on  the 
ground,  with  a cat-like  watch,  waiting  till  the 
sleeping  man  awaked  (for  it  is  said  that  lions 
will  prey  on  nothing  that  is  dead  or  sleeping). 
It  seemed  as  if  Orlando  was  sent  by  Provi- 
dence to  free  the  man  from  the  danger  of  the 
snake  and  lioness  : but  when  Orlando  looked 
in  the  man’s  face  he  perceived  that  the  sleeper, 
who  was  exposed  to  this  double  peril,  was  his 
own  brother  Oliver,  who  had  so  cruelly  used 
him,  and  had  threatened  to  destroy  him  by  fire  ; 
and  he  was  almost  tempted  to  leave  him  a prey 
to  the  hungry  lioness  : but  brotherly  affection 
and  the  gentleness  of  his  nature  soon  over- 
came his  first  anger  against  his  brother  : and 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


21 1 


he  drew  his  sword,  and  attacked  the  lioness, 
and  slew  her,  and  thus  preserved  his  brother’s 
life  both  from  the  venomous  snake  and  from 
the  furious  lioness  : but  before  Orlando  could 
conquer  the  lioness,  she  had  torn  one  of  his 
arms  with  her  sharp  claws. 

While  Orlando  was  engaged  with  the  lioness 
Oliver  awaked,  and  perceiving  that  his  brother 
Orlando,  whom  he  had  so  cruelly  treated,  was 
saving  him  from  the  fury  of  a wild  beast  at  the 
risk  of  his  own  life,  shame  and  remorse  at  once 
seized  him,  and  he  repented  of  his  unworthy 
conduct,  and  besought  with  many  tears  his 
brother’s  pardon  for  the  injuries  he  had  done 
him.  Orlando  rejoiced  to  see  him  so  penitent, 
and  readily  forgave  him  : and  they  embraced 
each  other  ; and  from  that  hour  Oliver  loved 
Orlando  with  a true  brotherly  affection,  though 
he  had  come  to  the  forest  bent  on  his  destruc- 
tion. 

The  wound  in  Orlando’s  arm  having  bled  very 
much,  he  found  himself  too  weak  to  go  to  visit 
Ganimed,  and  therefore  he  desired  his  brother 
to  go  and  tell  Ganimed,  “ whom,”  said  Orlando, 
“ I in  sport  do  call  my  Rosalind,”  the  accident 
which  had  befallen  him. 

Thither  then  Oliver  went,  and  told  to  Gani- 
med and  Aliena  how  Orlando  had  saved  his 
life  : and  when  he  had  finished  the  story  of 
Orlando’s  bravery,  and  his  own  providential 
escape,  he  owned  to  them  that  he  was  Orlando’s 
brother  who  had  so  cruelly  used  him  ; and  then 
he  told  them  of  their  reconciliation. 


212 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


The  sincere  sorrow  that  Oliver  expressed 
for  his  offenses  made  such  a lively  impression 
on  the  kind  heart  of  Aliena,  that  she  instantly 
fell  in  love  with  him ; and  Oliver  observing 
how  much  she  pitied  the  distress  he  told  her 
he  felt  for  his  fault,  he  as  suddenly  fell  in  love 
with  her.  But  while  love  was  thus  stealing 
into  the  hearts  of  Aliena  and  Oliver,  he  was 
no  less  busy  with  Ganimed,  who  hearing  of 
the  danger  Orlando  had  been  in,  and  that  he 
was  wounded  by  the  lioness,  fainted  : and  when 
he  recovered,  he  pretended  he  had  counter- 
feited the  swoon  in  the  imaginary  character  of 
Rosalind,  and  Ganimed  said  to  Oliver,  “ Tell 
your  brother  Orlando  how  w.ell  I counterfeited 
a swoon. ” But  Oliver  saw  by  the  paleness  of 
his  complexion  that  he  did  really  faint,  and 
much  wondering  at  the  weakness  of  the  young 
man,  he  said,  “ Well,  if  you  did  counterfeit, 
take  a good  heart  and  counterfeit  to  be  a man.” 
“ So  I do,”  replied  Ganimed,  truly,  “ but  I 
should  have  been  a woman  by  right.” 

Oliver  made  this  visit  a very  long  one,  and 
when  at  last  he  returned  back  to  his  brother, 
he  had  much  news  to  tell  him  ; for  besides  the 
account  of  Ganimed’s  fainting  at  the  hearing 
that  Orlando  was  wounded,  Oliver  told  him 
how  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  the  fair  shep- 
herdess Aliena,  and  that  she  had  lent  a favor- 
able ear  to  his  suit,  even  in  this  their  first 
interview ; and  he  talked  to  his  brother,  as  of 
a thing  almost  settled,  that  he  should  marry 
Aliena,  saying  that  he  so  well  loved  her,  that 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


213 


he  would  live  here  as  a shepherd,  and  settle 
his  estate  and  house  at  home  upon  Orlando. 

“ You  have  my  consent,”  said  Orlando. 
“ Let  your  wedding  be  to-morrow,  and  I will 
invite  the  duke  and  his  friends.  Go  and  per- 
suade your  shepherdess  to  agree  to  this  : she  is 
now  alone ; for  look,  here  comes  her  brother.” 
Oliver  went  to  Aliena  ; and  Ganimed,  whom 
Orlando  had  seen  approaching,  came  to  inquire 
after  the  health  of  his  wounded  friend. 

When  Orlando  and  Ganimed  began  to  talk 
over  the  sudden  love  which  had  taken  place 
between  Oliver  and  Aliena,  Orlando  said  he 
had  advised  his  brother  to  persuade  his  fair 
shepherdess  to  be  married  on  the  morrow,  and 
then  he  added  how  much  he  could  wish  to  be 
married  on  the  same  day  to  his  Rosalind. 

Ganimed,  who  well  approved  of  this  arrange- 
ment, said  that  if  Orlando  really  loved  Rosa- 
lind as  well  as  he  professed  to  do,  he  should 
have  his  wish  : for  on  the  morrow  he  would 
engage  to  make  Rosalind  appear  in  her  own 
person,  and  also  that  Rosalind  should  be  will- 
ing to  marry  Orlando. 

This  seemingly  wonderful  event,  which,  as 
Ganimed  was  the  lady  Rosalind,  he  could  so 
easily  perform,  he  pretended  he  would  bring 
to  pass  by  the  aid  of  magic,  which  he  said  he 
had  learnt  of  an  uncle  who  was  a famous 
magician. 

The  fond  lover  Orlando,  half  believing  and 
half  doubting  what  he  heard,  asked  Ganimed 
if  he  spoke  in  sober  meaning.  “ By  my  life  I 


2 1 4 TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 

do,”  said  Ganimed  ; “ therefore  put  on  your 
best  clothes,  and  bid  the  duke  and  your  friends 
to  your  wedding ; for  if  you  desire  to  be  mar- 
ried to-morrow  to  Rosalind  she  shall  be  here.” 

The  next  morning,  Oliver  having  obtained 
the  consent  of  Aliena,  they  came  into  the  pres- 
ence of  the  duke,  and  with  them  also  came 
Orlando. 

They  being  all  assembled  to  celebrate  this 
double  marriage,  and  as  yet  only  one  of  the 
brides  appearing,  there  was  much  of  wonder- 
ing and  conjecture,  but  they  mostly  thought 
that  Ganimed  was  making  a jest  of  Orlando. 

The  Duke,  hearing  it  was  his  own  daughter 
that  was  to  be  brought  in  this  strange  way, 
asked  Orlando  if  he  believed  the  shepherd-boy 
could  really  do  what  he  had  promised  ; and 
while  Orlando  was  answering  that  he  knew 
not  what  to  think,  Ganimed  entered  and  asked 
the  duke,  if  he  brought  his  daughter,  whether 
he  would  consent  to  her  marriage  with  Orlando. 
“That  I would,”  said  the  duke,  “if  I had  king- 
doms to  give  with  her.  Ganimed  then  said  to 
Orlando,  “ And  you  say  you  will  marry  her  if  I 
bring  her  here  ? ” That  I would,  said  Orlando, 
“ if  I were  king  of  many  kingdoms.” 

Ganimed  and  Aliena  then  went  out  together, 
and  Ganimed  throwing  off  his  male  attire,  and 
being  once  more  dressed  in  woman’s  apparel, 
quickly  became  Rosalind  without  the  power  of 
magic ; and  Aliena,  changing  her  country  garb 
for  her  own  rich  clothes,  was  with  as  little 
trouble  transformed  into  the  lady  Celia. 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


2I5 


While  they  were  gone,  the  duke  said  to 
Orlando,  that  he  thought  the  shepherd  Gam- 
med very  like  his  daughter  Rosalind  ; and 
Orlando  said,  he  also  had  observed  the  resem- 
blance. 

They  had  no  time  to  wonder  how  all  this 
would  end,  for  Rosalind  and  Celia  in  their  own 
clothes  entered ; and  no  longer  pretending  that 
it  was  by  the  power  of  magic  that  she  came 
there,  Rosalind  threw  herself  on  her  knees  be- 
fore her  father,  and  begged  his  blessing.  It 
seemed  so  wonderful  to  all  present  that  she 
should  so  suddenly  appear,  that  it  might  well 
have  passed  for  magic  : but  Rosalind  would 
no  longer  trifle  with  her  father,  and  told  him 
the  story  of  her  banishment,  and  of  her  dwell- 
ing in  the  forest  as  a shepherd-boy,  her  cousin 
Celia  passing  as  her  sister. 

The  duke  ratified  the  consent  he  had  already 
given  to  the  marriage  ; and  Orlando  and  Rosa- 
lind, Oliver  and  Celia,  were  married  at  the 
same  time.  And  though  their  wedding  could 
not  be  celebrated  in  this  wild  forest  with  any 
of  the  parade  or  splendor  usual  on  such  occa- 
sions, yet  a happier  wedding-day  was  never 
passed  : and  while  they  were  eating  their  veni- 
son under  the  cool  shade  of  the  trees,  as  if 
nothing  should  be  wanting  to  complete  the 
felicity  of  this  good  duke  and  the  true  lovers, 
an  unexpected  messenger  arrived  to  tell  the 
duke  the  joyful  news,  that  his  dukedom  was 
restored  to  him. 

The  usurper,  enraged  at  the  flight  of  his 


2 1 6 TALES  FROM  SU  A KS  PE  A RE. 


daughter  Celia,  and  hearing  that  every  day 
men  of  great  worth  resorted  to  the  forest  of 
Arden  to  join  the  lawful  duke  in  his  exile, 
much  envying  that  his  brother  should  be  so 
highly  respected  in  his  adversity,  put  himself 
at  the  head  of  a large  force,  and  advanced  to 
the  forest,  intending  to  seize  his  brother,  and 
put  him,  with  all  his  faithful  followers,  to  the 
sword ; but  by  a wonderful  interposition  of 
Providence,  this  bad  brother  was  converted 
from  his  evil  intention  : for  just  as  he  entered 
tfre  skirts  of  the  wild  forest,  he  was  met  by  an 
old  religious  man,  a hermit,  with  whom  he  had 
much  talk,  and  who  in  the  end  completely 
turned  his  heart  from  his  wicked  design. 
Thenceforward  he  became  a true  penitent, 
and  resolved,  relinquishing  his  unjust  domin- 
ion, to  spend  the  remainder  of  his  days  in  a 
religious  house.  The  first  act  of  his  newly- 
conceived  penitence  was  to  send  a messenger 
to  his  brother  (as  has  been  related),  to  offer  to 
restore  to  him  his  dukedom,  which  he  had 
usurped  so  long,  and  with  it  the  lands  and 
revenues  of  his  friends,  the  faithful  followers 
of  his  adversity. 

This  joyful  news,  as  unexpected  as  it  was 
welcome,  came  opportunely  to  heighten  the 
festivity  and  rejoicings  at  the  wedding  of  the 
princesses.  Celia  complimented  her  cousin 
on  this  good  fortune  which  had  happened  to 
the  duke,  Rosalind’s  father,  and  wished  her 
joy  very  sincerely,  though  she  herself  was  no 
longer  heir  to  the  dukedom,  but  by  this  resto- 


AS  YOU  LIKE  IT. 


217 


ration  which  her  father  had  made,  Rosalind 
was  now  the  heir  : so  completely  was  the  love 
of  these  two  cousins  unmixed  with  anything 
of  jealousy  or  envy. 

The  duke  had  now  an  opportunity  of  reward- 
ing those  true  friends  who  had  stayed  with 
him  in  his  banishment ; and  these  worthy  fol- 
lowers, though  they  had  patiently  shared  his 
adverse  fortune,  were  very  well  pleased  to 
return  in  peace  and  prosperity  to  the  palace 
of  their  lawful  duke. 


TALES 


FROM 

SHAKSPEARE 


BY 

CHARLES  and  MARY  LAMB 

< 


VOLUME  II. 


CHICAGO 

DONOHUE,  HENNEBERRY  & CO. 
407  Dearborn  Street 


I 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

There  lived  at  the  palace  at  Messina  two 
ladies  whose  names  were  Hero  and  Beatrice. 
Hero  was  the  daughter,  and  Beatrice  the  niece, 
of  Leonato,  the  governor  of  Messina. 

Beatrice  was  of  a lively  temper,  and  loved 
to  divert  her  cousin  Hero,  who  was  of  a more 
serious  disposition,  with  her  sprightly  sallies. 
Whatever  was  going  forward  was  sure  to  make 
matter  of  mirth  for  the  light-hearted  Beatrice. 

At  the  time  the  history  of  these  ladies  com- 
mences, some  young  men  of  high  rank  in  the 
army,  as  they  were  passing  through  Messina 
on  their  return  from  a war  that  was  just  ended, 
in  which  they  had  distinguished  themselves 
by  their  great  bravery,  came  to  visit  Leonato. 
Among  these  were  Don  Pedro,  the  prince  of 
Arragon,  and  his  friend  Claudio,  who  was  a 
lord  of  Florence ; and  with  them  came  the 
wild  and  witty  Benedick,  and  he  was  a lord  of 
Padua. 

These  strangers  had  been  at  Messina  before, 
and  the  hospitable  governor  introduced  them 


6 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


to  his  daughter  and  his  niece  as  their  old 
friends  and  acquaintance. 

Benedick,  the  moment  he  entered  the  room, 
began  a lively  conversation  with  Leonato  and 
the  prince.  Beatrice,  who  liked  not  to  be  left 
out  of  any  discourse,  interrupted  Benedick 
with  saying,  “ I wonder  that  you  will  still  be 
talking,  signior  Benedick  ; nobody  marks  you.” 
Benedick  was  just  such  another  rattle-brain  as 
Beatrice,  yet  he  was  not  pleased  at  this  free 
salutation  : he  thought  it  did  not  become  a 
well-bred  lady  to  be  so  flippant  with  her  tongue  : 
and  he  remembered,  when  he  was  last  at  Mes- 
sian,  that  Beatrice  used  to  select  him  to  make 
her  merry  jests  upon.  And  as  there  is  no  one 
who  so  little  likes  to  be  made  a jest  of  as 
those  who  are  apt  to  take  the  same  liberty 
themselves,  so  it  was  with  Benedick  and  Bea- 
trice ; these  two  sharp  wits  never  met  in  for- 
mer times,  but  a perfect  war  of  raillery  was  kept 
up  between  them,  and  they  always  parted  mu- 
tually displeased  with  each  other.  Therefore 
when  Beatrice  stopped  him  in  the  middle  of 
his  discourse  with  telling  him  nobody  marked 
what  he  was  saying,  Benedick,  affecting  not  to 
have  observed  before  that  she  was  present, 
said,  “ What,  my  dear  lady  Disdain,  are  you 
yet  living  ? ” And  now  war  broke  out  afresh 
between  them,  and  a long  jangling  argument 
ensued,  during  which  Beatrice,  although  she 
knew  he  had  so  well  approved  his  valor  in  the 
late  war,  said  that  she  would  eat  all  he  had 
killed  there  : and  observing  the  prince  take 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING . 


7 


delight  in  Benedick’s  conversation,  she  called 
him  “ the  prince’s  jester.”  This  sarcasm  sank 
deeper  into  the  mind  of  Benedick  than  all 
Beatrice  had  said  before.  The  hint  she  gave 
him  that  he  was  a coward,  by  saying  she 
would  eat  all  he  had  killed,  he  did  not  regard, 
knowing  himself  to  be  a brave  man  : but  there 
is  nothing  that  great  wits  so  much  dread  as 
the  imputation  of  buffoonery,  because  the 
charge  comes  sometimes  a little  too  near  the 
truth  : therefore  Benedick  perfectly  hated 

Beatrice  when  she  called  him  “the  prince’s 
jester.” 

The  modest  lady  Hero  was  silent  before  the 
noble  guests ; and  while  Claudio  was  atten- 
tively observing  the  improvements  which  time 
had  made  in  her  beauty,  and  was  contemplat- 
ing the  exquisite  graces  of  her  fine  figure  (for 
she  was  an  admirable  young  lady),  the  prince 
was  highly  amused  with  listening  to  the  humor- 
ous dialogue  between  Benedick  and  Beatrice ; 
and  he  said  in  a whisper  to  Leonato,  “ This  is 
a pleasant  spirited  young  lady.  She  were  an 
excellent  wife  for  Benedick.”  Leonato  replied 
to  this  suggestion,  “ O my  lord,  my  lord,  if 
they  were  but  a week  married,  they  would  talk 
themselves  mad.”  But  though  Leonato  thought 
they  would  make  a discordant  pair,  the  prince 
did  not  give  up  the  idea  of  matching  these 
two  keen  wits  together. 

When  the  prince  returned  with  Claudio  from 
the  palace,  he  found  that  the  marriage  he  had 
devised  between  Benedick  and  Beatrice  was 


8 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


not  the  only  one  projected  in  that  good  com- 
pany, for  Claudio  spoke  in  such  terms  of  Hero, 
as  made  the  prince  guess  at  what  was  passing 
in  his  heart ; and  he  liked  it  well,  and  he  said 
to  Claudio,  “ Do  you  affect  Hero  ? ” To  this 
question  Claudio  replied,  “ O my  lord,  when  I 
was  last  at  Messina,  I looked  upon  her  with 
a soldier’s  eye,  that  liked,  but  had  no  leisure 
for  loving;  but  now,  in  this  happy  time  of 
peace,  thoughts  of  war  have  left  their  places 
vacant  in  my  mind,  and  in  their  room  come 
thronging  soft  and  delicate  thoughts,  all 
prompting  me  how  fair  young  Hero  is,  remind- 
ing me  that  I liked  her  before  I went  to  the 
wars.”  Claudio’s  confession  of  his  love  for 
Hero  so  wrought  upon  the  prince,  that  he  lost 
no  time  in  soliciting  the  consent  of  Leonatoto 
accept  of  Claudio  for  a son-in-law.  Leonato 
agreed  to  this  proposal,  and  the  prince  found 
no  great  difficulty  in  persuading  the  gentle 
Hero  herself  to  listen  to  the  suit  of  the  noble 
Claudio,  who  was  a lord  of  rare  endowments, 
and  highly  accomplished ; and  Claudio,  assisted 
by  his  kind  prince,  soon  prevailed  upon  Leo- 
nato to  fix  an  early  day  for  the  celebration  of 
his  marriage  with  Hero. 

Claudio  was  to  wait  but  a few  days  before 
he  was  to  be  married  to  his  fair  lady ; yet  he 
complained  of  the  interval  being  tedious,  as 
indeed  most  young  men  are  impatient,  when 
they  are  waiting  for  the  accomplishment  of  any 
event  they  have  set  their  hearts  upon  : the 
prince,  therefore,  to  make  the  time  seem  short 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


9 


to  him,  proposed,  as  a kind  of  merry  pastime, 
that  they  should  invent  some  artful  scheme  to 
make  Benedick  and  Beatrice  fall  in  love  with 
each  other.  Claudio  entered  with  great  satis- 
faction into  this  whim  of  the  prince,  and  Leo- 
nato  promised  them  his  assistance,  and  even 
Hero  said  she  would  do  any  modest  office  to 
help  her  cousin  to  a good  husband. 

The  device  the  prince  invented  was,  that 
the  gentlemen  should  make  Benedick  believe 
that  Beatrice  was  in  love  with  him,  and  that 
Hero  should  make  Beatrice  believe  that  Ben- 
edick was  in  love  with  her. 

The  prince,  Leonato,  and  Claudio  began 
their  operations  first ; and,  watching  an  op- 
portunity when  Benedick  was  quietly  seated 
reading  in  an  arbor,  the  prince  and  his  assist- 
ants took  their  station  among  the  trees  behind 
the  arbor,  so  near  that  Benedick  could  not 
choose  but  hear  all  they  said  ; and  after  some 
careless  talk,  the  prince  said,  “ Come  hither, 
Leonato.  What  was  it  you  told  me  the  other 
day — that  your  niece  Beatrice  was  in  love  with 
signior  Benedick  ? I did  never  think  that  lady 
would  have  loved  any  man.”  “ No,  nor  I 
neither,  my  lord,”  answered  Leonato.  “ It  is 
most  wonderful  that  she  should  so  dote  on 
Benedick,  whom  she  in  all  outward  behavior 
seemed  ever  to  dislike.”  Claudio  confirmed 
all  this,  with  saying  that  Hero  had  told  him 
Beatrice  was  so  in  love  with  Benedick,  that 
she  would  certainly  die  of  grief,  if  he  could 
not  be  brought  to  love  her ; which  Leonato 


IO 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


and  Claudio  seemed  to  agree  was  impossible, 
he  having  always  been  such  a railer  against  all 
fair  ladies,  and  in  particular  against  Beatrice. 

The  prince  affected  to  hearken  to  all  this 
with  great  compassion  for  Beatrice,  and  he 
said,  “ It  were  good  that  Benedick  were  told 
of  this.”  “ To  what  end  ? ” said  Claudio  ; “ he 
would  but  make  sport  of  it,  and  torment  the 
poor  lady  worse.”  “ And  if  he  should,”  said 
the  prince,  “ it  were  a good  deed  to  hang  him  ; 
for  Beatrice  is  an  excellent  sweet  lady,  and 
exceeding  wise  in  everything  but  in  loving 
Benedick.”  Then  the  prince  motioned  to  his 
companions  that  they  should  walk  on,  and 
leave  Benedick  to  meditate  upon  what  he  had 
overheard. 

Benedick  had  been  listening  with  great 
eagerness  to  this  conversation  ; and  he  said  to 
himself  when  he  heard  Beatrice  loved  him,  “ Is 
it  possible  ? Sits  the  wind  in  that  corner  ? ” 
And  when  they  were  gone,  he  began  to  reason 
in  this  manner  with  himself.  “ This  can  be 
no  trick ! they  were  very  serious,  and  they 
have  the  truth  from  Hero,  and  seem  to  pity  the 
lady.  Love  me  ! Why,  it  must  be  requited  ! 
I did  never  think  to  marry.  But  when  I said 
I should  die  a bachelor,  I did  not  think  I 
should  live  to  be  married.  They  say  the  lady 
is  virtuous  and  fair.  She  is  so.  And  wise  in 
everything  but  in  loving  me.  Why,  that  is 
no  great  argument  of  her  folly.  But  here  comes 
Beatrice.  By  this  day,  she  is  a fair  lady.  I 
do  spy  some  marks  of  love  in  her.”  Beatrice 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING . 


II 


now  approached  him,  and  said  with  her  usual 
tartness,  “ Against  my  will  I am  sent  to 
bid  you  come  in  to  dinner.”  Benedick,  who 
never  felt  himself  disposed  to  speak  so  politely 
to  her  before,  replied,  “ Fair  Beatrice,  I thank 
you  for  your  pains  : ” and  when  Beatrice,  after 
two  or  three  more  rude  speeches,  left  him, 
Benedick  thought  he  observed  a concealed 
meaning  of  kindness,  under  the  uncivil  words 
she  uttered,  and  he  said  aloud,  “ If  I do  not 
take  pity  on  her,  I am  a villain.  If  I do  not 
love  her,  I am  a Jew.  I will  go  get  her  pict- 
ure.” 

The  gentleman  being  thus  caught  in  the  net 
they  had  spread  for  him,  it  was  now  Hero’s 
turn  to  play  her  part  with  Beatrice  ; and  for 
this  purpose  she  sent  for  Ursula  and  Margaret, 
two  gentlewomen  who  attended  upon  her,  and 
she  said  to  Margaret,  “ Good  Margaret,  run  to 
the  parlor  ; there  you  will  find  my  cousin  Bea- 
trice talking  with  the  prince  and  Claudio. 
Whisper  in  her  ear,  that  I and  Ursula  are 
walking  in  the  orchard,  and  that  our  discourse 
is  all  of  her.  Bid  her  steal  into  that  pleasant 
arbor,  where  honeysuckles,  ripened  by  the 
sun,  like  ungrateful  minions,  forbid  the  sun  to 
enter.”  This  arbor,  into  which  Hero  desired 
Margaret  to  entice  Beatrice,  was  the  very  same 
pleasant  arbor  where  Benedick  had  so  lately 
been  an  attentive  listener.  “ I will  make  her 
come,  I warrant,  presently,”  said  Margaret. 

Hero,  then  taking  Ursula  with  her  into  the 
orchard,  said  to  her,  “ Now,  Ursula,  when 


12 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


Beatrice  comes,  we  will  walk  up  and  down  this 
alley,  and  our  talk  must  be  only  of  Benedick, 
and  when  I name  him,  let  it  be  your  part  to 
praise  him  more  than  ever  man  did  merit. 
My  talk  to  you  must  be  how  Benedick  is  in 
love  with  Beatrice.  Now  begin  ; for  look 
where  Beatrice  like  a lapwing  runs  close  by  the 
ground,  to  hear  our  conference.”  They  then 
began  ; Hero  saying,  as  if  in  answer  to  some- 
thing which  Ursula  had  said,  “ No,  truly, 
Ursula.  She  is  too  disdainful ; her  spirits  are 
as  coy  as  wild  birds  of  the  rock.”  “ But  are 
you  sure,”  said  Ursula,  “ that  Benedick  loves 
Beatrice  so  entirely  ? ” Hero  replied,  “ So  says 
the  prince,  and  my  lord  Claudio,  and  they  en- 
treated me  to  acquaint  her  with  it ; but  I per- 
suaded them,  if  they  loved  Benedick,  never  to 
let  Beatrice  know  of  it.”  “ Certainly,”  replied 
Ursula,  “ it  were  not  good  she  knew  his  love, 
lest  she  made  sport  of  it.”  “ Why,  to  say 
truth,”  said  Hero,  “ I never  yet  saw  a man, 
how  wise  soever,  or  noble,  young  or  rarely 
featured,  but  she  would  dispraise  him.”  “ Sure 
sure,  such  carping  is  not  commendable,”  said 
Ursula.  “ No,”  replied  Hero,  “ but  who  dare 
tell  her  so  ? if  I should  speak,  she  would  mock 
me  into  air.”  “ O you  wrong  your  cousin,” 
said  Ursula  : “ she  cannot  be  so  much  without 
true  judgment  as  to  refuse  so  rare  a gentleman 
assignor  Benedick.”  “ He  hath  an  excellent 
good  name,”  said  Hero:  “ indeed  he  is  the 
first  man  in  Italy,  always  excepting  my  dear 
Claudio.”  And  now,  Hero  giving  her  attend 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


*3 


ant  a hint  that  it  was  time  to  change  the  dis- 
course, Ursula  said,  “ And  when  are  you  to  be 
married,  madam  ?”  Hero  then  told  her,  that 
she  was  to  be  married  to  Claudio  the  next  day, 
and  desired  she  would  go  in  with  her,  and 
look  at  some  new  attire,  as  she  wished 
to  consult  with  her  on  what  she  would  wear  on 
the  morrow.  Beatrice,  who  had  been  listening 
with  breathless  eagerness  to  this  dialogue, 
when  they  went  away,  exclaimed,  “ What  fire 
is  in  my  ears  ? Can  this  be  true  ? Farewell, 
contempt  and  scorn,  and  maiden  pride,  adieu  ! 
Benedick,  love  on ; I will  requite  you,  taming 
my  wild  heart  to  your  loving  hand.” 

It  must  have  been  a pleasant  sight  to  see 
these  old  enemies  converted  into  new  and  lov- 
ing friends  ; and  to  behold  their  first  meeting 
after  being  cheated  into  mutual  liking  by  the 
merry  artifice  of  the  good-humored  prince. 
But  a sad  reverse  in  the  fortunes  of  Hero 
must  now  be  thought  of.  The  morrow,  which 
was  to  have  been  her  wedding-day,  brought 
sorrow  on  the  heart  of  Hero  and  her  good 
father,  Leonato. 

The  prince  had  a half-brother,  who  came 
from  the  wars  along  with  him  to  Messina. 
This  brother  (his  name  was  Don  John)  was  a 
melancholy,  discontented  man  whose  spirit 
seemed  to  labor  in  the  contriving  of  villainies. 
He  hated  the  prince  his  brother,  and  he  hated 
Claudio,  because  he  was  the  prince’s  friend, 
and  determined  to  prevent  Claudio’s  marriage 
with  Hero,  only  for  the  malicious  pleasure  of 


14  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE , 

making  Claudio  and  the  prince  unhappy ; for 
he  knew  the  prince  had  set  his  heart  upon 
this  marriage,  almost  as  much  as  Claudio  him- 
self : and  to  effect  this  wicked  purpose,  he 
employed  one  Borachio,  a man  as  bad  as  him- 
self, whom  he  encouraged  with  the  offer  of  a 
great  reward.  Thus  Borachio  paid  his  court 
to  Margaret,  Hero’s  attendant ; and  Don  John, 
knowing  this,  prevailed  upon  him  to  make 
Margaret  promise  to  talk  with  him  from  her 
lady’s  chamber-window,  that  night,  after  Hero 
was  asleep,  and  also  to  dress  herself  in  Hero’s 
clothes,  the  better  to  deceive  Claudio  into 
the  belief  that  it  was  Hero,  for  that  was  the 
end  he  meant  to  compass  by  this  wicked  plot. 

Don  John  then  went  to  the  prince  and 
Claudio,  and  told  them  that  Hero  was  an 
imprudent  lady,  and  that  she  talked  with  men 
from  her  chamber  window  at  midnight.  Now 
this  was  the  evening  before  the  wedding,  and 
he  offered  to  take  them  that  night,  where  they 
should  themselves  hear  Hero  discoursing  with 
a man  from  her  window ; and  they  consented 
to  go  along  with  him,  and  Claudio  said,  “ If  I 
see  anything  to-night  why  I should  not  marry 
her,  to-morrow  in  the  congregation,  where  I 
intended  to  wed  her,  there  will  I shame  her.” 
The  prince  also  said,  “ And  as  I assisted  you 
to  obtain  her,  I will  join  with  you  to  disgrace 
her.” 

When  Don  John  brought  them  near  Hero’s 
chamber  that  night,  they  saw  Borachio  stand- 
ing under  the  window,  and  they  saw  Margaret 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING . 

looking  out  of  Hero’s  window,  and  heard  her 
talking  with  Borachio ; and  Margaret  being 
dressed  in  the  same  clothes  they  had  seen 
Hero  wear,  the  prince  and  Claudio  believed 
it  was  the  lady  Hero  herself. 

Nothing  could  equal  the  anger  of  Claudio, 
when  he  had  made  (as  he  thought)  this 
discovery.  All  his  love  for  the  innocent  Hero 
was  at  once  converted  into  hatred,  and  he 
resolved  to  expose  her  in  the  church,  as  he 
had  said  he  would,  the  next  day  ; and  the 
prince  agreed  to  this,  thinking  no  punishment 
could  be  too  severe  for  the  naughty  lady,  who 
talked  with  a man  from  her  window  the  very 
night  before  she  was  going  to  be  married  to 
the  noble  Claudio. 

The  next  day  they  were  all  met  to  celebrate 
the  marriage,  and  Claudio  and  Hero  were 
standing  before  the  priest,  and  the  priest,  or 
friar,  as  he  was  called,  was  proceeding  to  pro- 
nounce the  marriage  ceremony,  when  Claudio, 
in  the  most  passionate  language,  proclaimed 
the  guilt  of  the  blameless  Hero,  who,  amazed  at 
the  strange  words  he  uttered,  said  meekly, 

“ Is  my  lord  well,  that  he  does  speak  so 
wide  ? ” 

Leonato  in  the  utmost  horror,  said  to  the 
prince, 

“ My  lord,  why  speak  not  you  ? ” “ What 

should  I speak?”  said  the  prince;  “I  stand 
dishonored,  that  have  gone  about  to  link  my 
dear  friend  to  an  unworthy  woman.  Leonato, 
upon  my  honor,  myself,  my  brother,  and  this 


1 6 TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 

grieved  Claudio,  did  see  and  hear  her  last 
night  at  midnight  talk  with  a man  at  her  charm 
ber-window.” 

Benedick,  in  astonishment  at  what  he  heard, 
said,  “ This  looks  not  like  a nuptial.” 

“True,  O God!”  replied  the  heart-struck 
Hero  ; and  then  this  hapless  lady  sank  down 
in  a fainting  fit,  to  all  appearance  dead.  The 
prince  and  Claudio  left  the  church,  without 
staying  to  see  if  Hero  would  recover,  or  at  all 
regarding  the  distress  into  which  they  had 
thrown  Leonato.  So  hard-hearted  had  their 
anger  made  them. 

Benedick  remained,  and  assisted  Beatrice 
to  recover  Hero  from  her  swoon,  saying,  “ How 
does  the  lady  ? ” “ Bead  I think,”  replied 

Beatrice  in  great  agony,  for  she  loved  her  cou- 
sin ; and  knowing  her  virtuous  principles,  she 
believed  nothing  of  what  she  had  heard  spoken 
against  her.  Not  so  the  poor  old  father;  he 
believed  the  story  of  his  child’s  shame,  and  it 
was  piteous  to  hear  him  lamenting  over  her, 
as  she  lay  like  one  dead  before  him,  wishing 
she  might  never  more  open  her  eyes. 

But  the  ancient  friar  was  a wise  man,  and 
full  of  observation  on  human  nature,  and  he 
had  attentively  marked  the  lady’s  countenance 
when  she  heard  herself  accused,  and  noted  a 
thousand  blushing  shames  to  start  into  her 
face,  and  then  he  saw  an  angel-like  whiteness 
bear  away  those  blushes,  and  in  her  eye  he  saw 
a fire  that  did  belie  the  error  that  the  prince 
did  speak  against  her  maiden  truth,  and  he 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING.  17 

said  to  the  sorrowing  father,  “ Call  me  a fool ; 
trust  not  my  reading,  nor  my  observation  ; trust 
not  my  age,  my  reverence,  nor  my  calling ; if 
this  sweet  lady  lie  not  guiltless  here  under 
some  biting  error.” 

When  Hero  recovered  from  the  swoon  into 
which  she  had  fallen,  the  friar  said  to  her, 
“Lady,  what  man  is  he  you  are  accused  of?  ” 
Hero  replied,  “ They  know  that  do  accuse  me  ; 
I know  of  none  : ” then  turning  to  Leonato, 
she  said,  “ O my  father,  if  you  can  prove  that 
any  man  has  ever  conversed  with  me  at  hours 
unmeet,  or  that  I yesternight  changed  words 
with  any  creature,  refuse  me,  hate  me,  torture 
me  to  death.” 

“There  is,”  said  the  friar,  “some  strange 
misunderstanding  in  the  prince  and  Claudio  ; ” 
and  then  he  counseled  Leoriato,  that  he  should 
report  that  Hero  was  dead  ; and  he  said,  that 
the  death-like  swoon  in  which  they  had  left 
Hero,  would  make  this  easy  of  belief  ; and  he 
also  advised  him,  that  he  should  put  on  mourn- 
ing, and  erect  a monument  for  her,  and  do  all 
rites  that  appertain  to  a burial.  “ What  will 
this  do  ? ” The  friar  replied,  “ This  report  of 
her  death  shall  change  slander  into  pity : that 
is  some  good ; but  that  is  not  all  the  good  I 
hope  for.  When  Claudio  shall  hear  she  died 
upon  hearing  his  words,  the  idea  of  her  life 
shall  sweetly  creep  into  his  imagination.  Then 
shall  he  mourn,  if  ever  love  had  interest  in  his 
heart,  and  wish  he  had  not  so  accused  her: 
yea,  though  he  thought  his  accusation  truer.” 


2 


i8 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


Benedick  now  said,  “ Leonato,  let  the  friar 
advise  you ; and  though  you  know  how  well  I 
love  the  prince  and  Claudio,  yet  on  my  honor 
I will  not  reveal  this  secret  to  them.” 

Leonato,  thus  persuaded,  yielded  ; and  he 
said  sorrowfully,  “ I am  so  grieved,  that  the 
smallest  twine  may  lead  me.”  The  kind  friar 
then  led  Leonato  and  Hero  away  to  comfort 
and  console  them,  and  Beatrice  and  Benedick 
remained  alone  ; and  this  was  the  meeting  from 
which  their  friends,  who  contrived  the  merry 
plot  against  them,  expected  so  much  diversion  ; 
those  friends  who  were  now  overwhelmed  with 
affliction,  and  from  whose  minds  all  thoughts 
of  merriment  seemed  forever  banished. 

Benedick  was  the  first  who  spoke,  and  he 
said,  “ Lady  Beatrice,  have  you  wept  all  this 
while  ? ” “ Yea,  and  I will  weep  a while  longer,” 
said  Beatrice.  “ Surely,”  said  Benedick,  “ I 
do  believe  your  fair  cousin  is  wronged.” 
“ Ah  ! ” said  Beatrice,  “ how  much  might  that 
man  deserve  of  me  who  would  right  her ! ” 
Benedick  then  said,  “ Is  there  any  way  to  show 
such  friendship  ? I do  love  nothing  in  the 
world  so  well  as  you  : is  not  that  strange  ? ” 
“ It  were  as  possible,”  said  Beatrice,  “ for  me 
to  say  I loved  nothing  in  the  word  so  well  as 
you;  but  believe  me  not,  and  yet  I lie  not.  I 
confess  nothing,  nor  I deny  nothing.  I am 
sorry  for  my  cousin.”  “ By  my  sword,”  said 
Benedick,  “ you  love  me,  and  I protest  I love 
you.  Come,  bid  me  do  anything  for  you.” 
“ Kill  Claudio,”  said  Beatrice,  “ Ha  ! not  for 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


J9 


the  wide  world,”  said  Benedick ; for  he  loved 
his  friend  Claudio,  and  he  believed  he  had 
been  imposed  upon.  44  Is  not  Claudio  a vil- 
lain, that  has  slandered,  scorned,  and  dis- 
honored my  cousin  ? ” said  Beatrice  : 44  O that 
I were  a man  ! ” “ Hear  me,  Beatrice  ! ” said 

Benedick.  But  Beatrice  would  hear  nothing 
in  Claudio’s  defense  ; and  she  continued  to 
urge  on  Benedick  to  revenge  her  cousin’s 
wrongs  : and  she  said,  44  Talk  with  a man  out 
of  the  window ; a proper  saying  ! Sweet  Hero  ! 
she  is  wronged ; she  is  slandered  ,■  she  is 
undone.  O that  I were  a man  for  Hero’s 
sake  ! or  that  I had  any  friend,  who  would  be 
a man  for  my  sake  ! but  valor  is  melted  into 
courtesies  and  compliments.  I cannot  be  a 
man  with  wishing,  therefore  I will  die  a woman 
with  grieving.”  “ Tarry,  good  Beatrice,”  said 
Benedick:  44  by  this  hand,  I love  you.”  44  Use  it 
for  my  love  some  other  way  than  by  swearing  by 
it,”  said  Beatrice.  44  Think  you,  on  your  soul, 
that  Claudio  has  wronged  Hero  ? ” asked  Bene- 
dick. 44  Yea,”  answered  Beatrice  ; 44  as  sure 
as  I have  a thought  or  a soul.”  44  Enough,” 
said  Benedick  ; 44 1 am  engaged  ; I will  chal- 
lenge him.  I will  kiss  your  hand,  and  so  leave 
you.  By  this  hand,  Claudio  shall  render  me  a 
dear  account ! As  you  hear  from  me,  so  think 
of  me.  Go  comfort  your  cousin.” 

While  Beatrice  was  thus  powerfully  pleading 
with  Benedick,  and  working  his  gallant  temper 
by  the  spirit  of  her  angry  words  to  engage  in 
the  cause  of  Hero,  and  fight  even  with  his  dear 


20 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


friend  Claudio,  Leonato  was  challenging  the 
prince  and  Claudio  to  answer  with  their  swords 
the  injury  they  had  done  his  child,  who,  he  af- 
firmed, had  died  for  grief.  But  they  respected 
his  age  and  his  sorrow,  and  they  said,  “ Nay, 
do  not  quarrel  with  us,  good  old  man.”  And 
now  came  Benedick,  and  he  also  challenged 
Claudio  to  answer  with  his  sword  the  injury  he 
had  done  to  Hero  ; and  Claudio  and  the  prince 
said  to  each  other,  “ Beatrice  has  set  him  on 
to  do  this.”  Claudio  nevertheless  must  have 
accepted  this  challenge  of  Benedick,  had  not 
the  justice  of  Heaven  at  that  moment  brought 
to  pass  a better  proof  of  the  innocence  of  Hero 
than  the  uncertain  fortune  of  a duel. 

While  the  prince  and  Claudio  were  yet  talk- 
ing of  the  challenge  of  Benedick,  a magistrate 
brought  Borachio  as  a prisoner  before  the 
prince.  Borachio  had  been  overheard  talking 
with  one  of  his  companions  of  the  mischief  he 
had  been  employed  by  Don  John  to  do. 

Borachio  made  a full  confession  to  the  prince 
in  Claudio’s  hearing,  that  it  was  Margaret 
dressed  in  her  lady’s  clothes  that  he  had  talked 
with  from  the  window,  whom  they  had  mis- 
taken for  the  lady  Hero  herself  ; and  no  doubt 
continued  on  the  minds  of  Claudio  and  the 
prince  of  the  innocence  of  Hero.  If  a sus- 
picion had  remained  it  must  have  been  re- 
moved by  the  flight  of  Don  John,  who,  finding 
his  villainies  were  detected,  fled  from  Messina 
to  avoid  the  just  anger  of  his  brother. 

The  heart  of  Claudio  was  sorely  grieved 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING , 


21 


when  he  found  he  had  falsely  accused  Hero, 
who,  he  thought,  died  upon  hearing  his  cruel 
words  ; and  the  memory  of  his  beloved  Hero’s 
image  came  over  him,  in  the  rare  semblance 
that  he  loved  at  first ; and  the  prince  asking 
him  if  what  he  heard  did  not  run  like  iron 
through  his  soul,  he  answered,  that  he  felt  as 
if  he  had  taken  poison  while  Borachio  was 
speaking. 

And  the  repentant  Claudio  implored  forgive- 
ness of  the  old  man  Leonato  for  the  injury  he 
had  done  his  child ; and  promised  that  what- 
ever penance  Leonato  would  lay  upon  him  for 
his  fault  in  believing  the  false  accusation 
against  his  betrothed  wife,  for  her  dear  sake  he 
would  endure  it. 

The  penance  Leonato  enjoined  him  was,  to 
marry  the  next  morning  a cousin  of  Hero’s 
who,  he  said,  was  now  his  heir,  and  in  person 
very  like  Hero.  Claudio,  regarding  the  solemn 
promise  he  made  to  Leonato,  said  he  would 
marry  this  unknown  lady,  even  though  she 
were  an  Ethiop  : but  his  heart  was  very  sor- 
rowful, and  he  passed  that  night  in  tears,  and 
in  remorseful  grief,  at  the  tomb  which  Leonato 
had  erected  for  Hero. 

When  the  morning  came,  the  prince  accom- 
panied Claudio  to  the  church,  where  the  good 
friar,  and  Leonato  and  his  niece,  were  already 
assembled,  to  celebrate  a second  nuptial ; and 
Leonato  presented  to  Claudio  his  promised 
bride : and  she  wore  a mask,  that  Claudio 
might  not  discover  her  face.  And  Claudio 


22 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


said  to  the  lady  in  the  mask,  “ Give  me  your 
hand,  before  this  holy  friar ; I am  your  hus- 
band, if  you  will  marry  me.”  “ And  when  I 
lived  I was  your  other  wife,”  said  this  un- 
known lady  ; and,  taking  off  her  mask,  she 
proved  to  be  no  niece  (as  was  pretended),  but 
Leonato’s  very  daughter,  the  lady  Hero  her- 
self. We  may  be  sure  that  this  proved  a most 
agreeable  surprise  to  Claudio  who  thought  her 
dead,  so  that  he  could  scarcely  for  joy  believe 
his  eyes  ; and  the  prince,  who  was  equally 
amazed  at  what  he  saw,  exclaimed,  “ Is  not 
this  Hero,  Hero  that  was  dead  ? ” Leonato 
replied,  “ She  died,  my  lord,  but  while  her 
slander  lived.”  The  friar  promised  them  an 
explanation  of  this  seeming  miracle,  after  the 
ceremony  was  ended;  and  was  proceeding  to 
marry  them,  when  he  was  interrupted  by  Ben- 
edick, who  desired  to  be  married  at  the  same 
time  to  Beatrice.  Beatrice  making  some  de- 
mur to  this  match,  and  Benedick  challenging 
her  with  her  love  for  him,  which  he  had  learnt 
from  Hero,  a pleasant  explanation  took  place  ; 
and  they  found  thabthey  had  both  been  tricked 
into  a belief  of  love,  which  had  never  existed, 
and  had  become  lovers  in  truth  by  the  power 
of  a false  jest : but  the  affection,  which  a merry 
invention  had  cheated  them  into  was  grown  too 
powerful  to  be  shaken  by  a serious  explana- 
tion ; and  since  Benedick  preposed  to  marry, 
he  was  resolved  to  think  nothing  to  the  pur- 
pose that  the  world  could  say  against  it ; and 
he  merrily  kept  up  the  jest,  and  swore  to  Bea- 


MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING . 


23 


trice  that  he  took  her  but  for  pity,  and  because 
he  heard  she  was  dying  of  love  for  him  ; and 
Beatrice  protested  that  she  yielded  but  upon 
great  persuasion,  and  partly  to  save  his  life, 
for  she  heard  he  was  in  a consumption.  So 
these  two  mad  wits  were  reconciled,  and  made 
a match  of  it,  after  Claudio  and  Hero  were 
married ; and  to  complete  the  history,  Don 
John,  the  contriver  of  the  villany,  was  taken  in 
his  flight  and  brought  back  to  Messina  ; and  a 
brave  punishment  it  was  to  this  gloomy  and 
discontented  man,  to  see  the  joy  and  feastings 
which,  by  the  disappointment  of  his  plots,  took 
place  at  the  palace  in  Messina. 


A MIDSUMMER  NIGHT’S  DREAM. 


There  was  a law  in  the  city  of  Athens 
which  gave  to  its  citizens  the  power  of  coni' 
pelling  their  daughters  to  marry  whomsoever 
they  pleased  : for  upon  a daughter’s  refusing 
to  marry  the  man  her  father  had  chosen  to  be 
her  husband,  the  father  was  empowered  by 
this  law  to  cause  her  to  be  put  to  death  ; but 
as  fathers  do  not  often  desire  the  death  of 
their  own  daughters,  even  though  they  do 
happen  to  prove  a little  refractory,  this  law 
was  seldom  or  never  put  in  execution,  though 
perhaps  the  young  ladies  of  that  city  were  not 
unfrequently  threatened  by  their  parents  with 
the  terrors  of  it. 

• There  was  one  instance,  however,  of  an  old 
man,  whose  name  was  Egeus,  who  actually  did 
come  before  Theseus  (at  that  time  the  reign- 
ing duke  of  Athens),  to  complain  that  his 
daughter  Hermia,  whom  he  had  commanded 
to  marry  Demetrius,  a young  man  of  a noble 
Athenian  family,  refused  to  obey  him,  because 
she  loved  another  young  Athenian,  named  Ly- 
sander.  Egeus  demanded  justice  of  Theseus, 
and  desired  that  this  cruel  law  might  be  put 
in  force  against  his  daughter. 

Hermia  pleaded  in  excuse  for  her  dis- 

24 


A MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.  25 

obedience,  that  Demetrius  had  formerly  pro- 
fessed love  for  her  dear  friend  Helena,  and 
that  Helena  loved  Demetrius  to  distraction  ; 
but  this  honorable  reason  which  Hermia  gave 
for  not  obeying  her  father’s  command  moved 
not  the  stern  Egeus. 

Theseus,  though  a great  and  merciful 
prince,  had  no  power  to  alter  the  laws  of  his 
country  ; therefore  he  could  only  give  Hermia 
four  days  to  consider  of  it : and  at  the  end  of 
that  time,  if  she  still  refused  to  marry  De- 
metrius, she  was  to  be  put  to  death. 

When  Hermia  was  dismissed  from  the 
presence  of  the  duke,  she  went  to  her  lover 
Lysander,  and  told  him  the  peril  she  was  in, 
and  that  she  must  either  give  up  him  and 
marry  Demetrius,  or  lose  her  life  in  four  days. 

Lysander  was  in  great  affliction  at  hearing 
these  evil  tidings  ; but  recollecting  that  he  had 
an  aunt  who  lived  at  some  distance  from 
Athens,  and  that  at  the  place  where  she  lived 
the  cruel  law  could  not  be  put  in  force 
against  Hermia  (this  law  not  extending  be- 
yond the  boundaries  of  the  city),  he  proposed 
to  Hermia,  that  she  should  steal  out  of  her 
father’s  house  that  night,  and  go  with  him  to 
his  aunt’s  house,  where  he  would  marry  her. 
“ I will  meet  you,”  said  Lysander,  “ in  the 
wood  a few  miles  without  the  city  ; in  that 
delightful  wood  where  we  have  so  often 
walked  with  Helena  in  the  pleasant  month 
of  May.” 

To  this  proposal  Hermia  joyfully  agreed ; 


26 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


and  she  told  no  one  of  her  intended  flight  but 
her  friend  Helena.  Helena  (as  maidens  will 
do  foolish  things  for  love)  very  ungenerously 
resolved  to  go  and  tell  this  to  Demetrius, 
though  she  could  hope  no  benefit  from  be- 
traying her  friend’s  secret,  but  the  poor 
pleasure  of  following  her  faithless  lover  to 
the  wood  ; for  she  well  knew  that  Demetrius 
would  go  thither  in  pursuit  of  Hermia. 

The  wood,  in  which  Lysander  and  Hermia 
proposed  to  meet,  was  the  favorite  haunt  of 
those  little  beings  known  by  the  name  of 
Fairies . 

Oberon  the  king,  and  Titania  the  queen,  of 
the  Fairies,  with  all  their  tiny  train  of  followers, 
in  this  wood  held  their  midnight  revels. 

Between  this  little  king  and  queen  of 
sprites  there  happened,  at  this  time,  a sad 
disagreement ; they  never  met  by  moonlight 
in  the  shady  walks  of  this  pleasant  wood  but 
they  were  quarreling,  till  all  their  fairy  elves 
would  creep  into  acorn  cups  and  hide  them- 
selves for  fear. 

The  cause  of  this  unhappy  disagreement 
was  Titania’s  refusing  to  give  Oberon  a little 
changeling  boy,  whose  mother  had  been 
Titania’s  friend  ; and  upon  her  death  the  fairy 
queen  stole  the  child  from  its  nurse,  and 
brought  him  up  in  the  woods. 

The  night  on  which  the  lovers  were  to  meet 
in  this  wood,  as  Titania  was  walking  with 
some  of  her  maids  of  honor,  she  met  Oberon 
attended  by  his  train  of  fairy  courtiers. 


A MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.  27 

v'  111  met  by  moonlight,  proud  Titania,”  said 
the  fairy  king.  The  queen  replied,  “ What, 
jealous  Oberon,  is  it  you?  Fairies,  skip 
hence  ; I have  forsworn  his  company.  ” 
“ Tarry,  rash  fairy,”  said  Oberon  ; “ am  not 
I thy  lord  ? Why  does  Titania  cross  her 
Oberon  ? Give  me  your  little  changeling  boy 
to  be  my  page.” 

“ Set  your  heart  at  rest,”  answered  the  queen; 
“your  whole  fairy  kingdom  buys  not  the  boy 
of  me.”  She  then  left  her  lord  in  great  anger. 
“Well,  go  your  way,”  said  Oberon;  “before 
the  morning  dawns  I will  torment  you  for  this 
injury.” 

Oberon  then  sent  for  Puck,  his  chief  favor- 
ite and  privy  councilor. 

Puck  (or,  as  he  was  sometimes  called,  F.obin 
Goodfellow)  was  a shrewd  and  knavish  sprite, 
and  used  to  play  comical  pranks  in  the  neighbor- 
ing villages  ; sometimes  getting  into  the  dairies 
and  skimming  the  milk ; sometimes  plunging 
his  light  and  airy  form  into  the  butter-churn, 
and  while  he  was  dancing  his  fantastic  shape 
in  the  churn,  in  vain  the  dairymaid  would 
labor  to  change  her  cream  into  butter  : nor 
had  the  village  swains  any  better  success ; 
whenever  Puck  chose  to  play  his  freaks  in  the 
brewing  copper,  the  ale  was  sure  to  be  spoiled. 
When  a few  good  neighbors  were  met  to  drink 
some  comfortable  ale  together,  Puck  would 
jump  into  the  bowl  of  ale  in  the  likeness  of  a 
roasted  crab,  and  when  some  old  goody  was 
going  to  drink,  he  would  bob  against  her 


a 8 


TALES  FROM  SHA  KS PE  A RE. 


lips,  and  spill  the  ale  over  her  withered 
chin  ; and  presently  after,  when  the  same  old 
dame  was  gravely  seating  herself  to  tell  her 
neighbors  a sad  and  melancholy  story,  Puck 
would  slip  her  three-legged  stool  from  under 
her,  and  down  toppled  the  poor  old  woman, 
and  then  the  old  gossips  would  hold  fheir  sides 
and  laugh  at  her,  and  swear  they  never  wasted 
a merrier  hour. 

“ Come  hither,  Puck,”  said  Oberon  to  this 
little  merry  wanderer  of  the  night ; “ fetch  me 
the  flower  which  maids  call  Love  in  Idleness ; 
the  juice  of  that  little  purple  flower  laid  on 
the  eyelids  of  those  who  sleep,  will  make  them, 
when  they  awake,  dote  on  the  first  thing  they 
see.  Some  of  the  juice  of  that  flower  I will 
drop  on  the  eyelids  of  my  Titania  when  she  is 
asleep ; and  the  first  thing  she  looks  upon 
when  she  opens  her  eyes  she  will  fall  in  love 
with,  even  though  it  be  a lion,  or  a bear,  a 
meddling  monkey,  or  a busy  ape  : and  before 
I will  take  this  charm  from  off  her  sight, 
which  I can  do  with  another  charm  I know  of, 
I will  make  her  give  me  that  boy  to  be  my 
page.” 

Puck,  who  loved  mischief  to  his  heart,  was 
highly  diverted  with  this  intended  frolic  of  his 
master,  and  ran  to  seek  the  flower ; and  while 
Oberon  was  waiting  the  return  of  Puck,  he 
observed  Demetrius  and  Helena  enter  the 
wood  : he  overheard  Demetrius  reproaching 
Helena  for  following  him,  an'd  after  many 
unkind  words  on  his  part,  and  gentle  expostu* 


A MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM  29 


lations  from  Helena,  reminding  him  of  his 
former  love  and  professions  of  true  faith  to 
her,  he  left  her  (as  he  said)  to  the  mercy  of  the 
wild  beasts,  and  she  ran  after  him  as  swiftly  as 
she  could. 

The  fairy  king,  who  was  always  friendly  to  true 
lovers,  felt  great  compassion  for  Helena  ; and 
perhaps,  as  Lysander  said  they  used  to  walk 
by  moonlight  in  this  pleasant  wood,  Oberon 
might  have  seen  Helena  in  those  happy  times  * 
when  she  was  beloved  by  Demetrius.  How- 
ever that  might  be,  when  Puck  returned  with 
the  little  purple  flower,  Oberon  said  to  his 
favorite,  “ Take  a part  of  this  flower  : there 
has  been  a sweet  Athenian  lady  here,  who  is 
in  love  with  a disdainful  youth  ; if  you  find 
him  sleeping,  drop  some  of  the  love-juice  in 
his  eyes,  but  contrive  to  do  it  when  she  is 
near  him,  that  the  first  thing  he  sees  when  he 
awakes  may  be  this  despised  lady.  You  will 
know  the  man  by  the  Athenian  garments  which 
he  wears.”  Puck  promised  to  manage  this 
matter  very  dexterously;  and  then  Oberon 
went,  unperceived  by  Titania,  to  her  bower, 
where  she  was  preparing  to  go  to  rest.  Her 
fairy  bower  was  a bank,  where  grew  wild 
thyme,  cowslips,  and  sweet  violets  under  a 
canopy  of  woodbine,  musk-roses,  and  eglantine. 
There  Titania  always  slept  some  part  of  the 
night;  her  coverlet  the  enameled  skin  of  a 
snake,  which,  though  a small  mantle,  was  wide 
enough  to  wrap  a fairy  in. 

He  found  Titania  giving  orders  to  her  fairies. 


3° 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


how  they  were  to  employ  themselves  white 
she  slept.  “ Some  of  you,”  said  her  majesty, 
“ must  kill  cankers  in  the  musk-rosebuds,  and 
some  wage  war  with  the  bats  for  their  leathern 
wings,  to  make  my  small  elves  coats  ; and  some 
of  you  keep  watch  that  the  clamorous  owl, 
that  nightly  hoots,  come  not  near  me  ; but 
first  sing  me  to  sleep.”  Then  they  began  to 
sing  this  song  : — 

“ You  spotted  snakes  with  double  tongue, 
Thorny  hedgehogs,  be  not  seen  ; 

Newts  and  blind-worms,  do  no  wrong, 

Come  not  near  our  Fairy  Queen. 

Philomel,  with  melody, 

Sing  in  your  sweet  lullaby, 

Lulla,  lulla,  lullaby  ; lulla,  lulla,  lullaby : 

Never  harm,  nor  spell,  nor  charm 
Come  our  lovely  lady  nigh  ; 

So  good-night  with  lullaby.” 

When  the  fairies  had  sung  their  queen 
asleep  with  this  pretty  lullaby,  they  left  her,  to 
perform  the  important  services  she  had  en- 
joined them.  Oberon  then  softly  drew  near 
his  Titania,  and  dropped  some  of  the  love-juice 
on  her  eyelids,  saying. 

“ What  thou  seest,  when  thou  dost  wake, 

Do  it  for  thy  true-love  sake.” 

But  to  return  to  Hermia,  who  made  her 
escape  out  of  her  father’s  house  that  night,  to 
avoid  the  death  she  was  doomed  to  for  refusing 
to  marry  Demetrius,  When  she  entered  the 


A MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.  31 


wood,  she  found  her  dear  Lysander  waiting 
for  her,  to  conduct  her  to  his  aunt’s  house  : 
but  before  they  had  passed  half  through  the 
wood,  Hermia  was  so  much  fatigued,  that 
Lysander,  who  was  very  careful  of  this  dear 
lady,  who  had  proved  her  affection  for  him 
even  by  hazarding  her  life  for  his  sake,  per- 
suaded her  to  rest  till  morning  on  a bank  of  soft 
moss,  and  lying  down  himself  on  the  ground 
at  some  little  distance,  they  soon  fell  fast 
asleep.  Here  they  were  found  by  Puck,  who 
seeing  a handsome  young  man  asleep,  and 
perceiving  that  his  clothes  were  made  in  the 
Athenian  fashion,  and  that  a pretty  lady  was 
sleeping  near  him,  concluded  that  this  must 
be  the  Athenian  maid  and  her  disdainful  lover 
whom  Oberon  had  sent  him  to  seek  ; and  he 
naturally  enough  conjectured  that  as  they  were 
alone  together,  she  must  be  the  first  thing  he 
would  see  when  he  awoke  ; so  without  more 
ado,  he  proceeded  to  pour  some  of  the  juice 
of  the  little  purple  flower  into  his  eyes.  But 
it  so  fell  out,  that  Helena  came  that  way,  and, 
instead  of  Hermia,  was  the  first  object  Lysan- 
der beheld  when  he  opened  his  eyes  : and 
strange  to  relate,  so  powerful  was  the  love- 
charm,  that  all  his  love  for  Hermia  vanished 
away,  and  Lysander  fell  in  love  with  Helena. 

Had  he  first  seen  Hermia  when  he  awoke, 
the  blunder  Puck  committed  would  have  been 
of  no  consequence,  for  he  could  not  love  that 
faithful  lady  too  well ; but  for  poor  Lysander 
to  be  forced  by  a fairy  love-charm  to  forget 


32 


TALES  EROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


his  own  true  Hermia,  and  to  run  after  another 
lady,  and  leave  Hermia  asleep  quite  alone  in 
a wood  at  midnight,  was  a sad  chance  indeed. 

Thus  this  misfortune  happened.  Helena, 
as  has  been  before  related,  endeavored  to 
keep  pace  with  Demetrius  when  he  ran  away 
so  rudely  from  her  ; but  she  could  not  con- 
tinue this  unequal  race  long,  men  being  always 
better  runners  in  a long  race  than  ladies. 
Helena  soon  lost  sight  of  Demetrius ; and  as 
she  was  wandering  about  dejected  and  forlorn, 
she  arrived  at  the  place  where  Lysander  was 
sleeping.  44  Ah  ! ” said  she,  “ this  is  Lysander 
lying  on  the  ground  : is  he  dead  or  asleep  ? ” 
Then  gently  touching  him,  she  said,  “ Good 
sir,  if  you  are  alive,  awake. ” Upon  this 
Lysander  opened  his  eyes,  and  (the  love- 
charm  beginning  to  work)  immediately  ad- 
dressed her  in  terms  of  extravagant  love  and 
admiration telling  her,  she  as  much  excelled 
Hermia  in  beauty  as  a dove  does  a raven,  and 
that  he  would  run  through  fire  for  her  sweet 
sake  ; and  many  more  such  lover-like  speeches. 
Helena,  knowing  Lysander  was  her  friend 
Hermia’s  lover,  and  that  he  was  solemnly 
engaged  to  marry  her,  was  in  the  utmost  rage 
when  she  heard  herself  addressed  in  this 
manner;  for  she  thought  (as  well  she  might) 
that  Lysander  was  making  a jest  of  her. 
44  Oh  ! ” said  she,  44  why  was  I born  to  be 
mocked  and  scorned  by  every  one  ? Is  it  not 
enough,  is  it  not  enough,  young  man,  that  I 
can  never  get  a sweet  look  or  a kind  word  from 


A MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.  33 


Demetrius ; but  you,  sir,  must  pretend  in  this 
disdainful  manner  to  court  me  ? I thought, 
Lysander,  you  were  a lord  of  more  true  gen- 
tleness.” Saying  these  words  in  great  anger, 
she  ran  away  ; and  Lysander  followed  her, 
quite  forgetful  of  his  own  Hermia,  who  was 
still  asleep. 

When  Hermia  awoke,  she  was  in  a sad  fright 
at  finding  herself  alone.  She  wandered  about 
the  wood,  not  knowing  what  was  become  of 
Lysander,  or  which  way  to  go  to  seek  for  him. 
In  the  meantime  Demetrius  not  being  able  to 
find  Hermia  and  his  rival  Lysander,  and  fa- 
tigued with  his  fruitless  search,  was  observed 
by  Oberon  fast  asleep.  Oberon  had  learnt, 
by  some  questions  he  had  asked  of  Puck,  that 
he  had  applied  the  love-charm  to  the  wrong 
person’s  eyes  ; and  now  having  found  the 
person  first  intended,  he  touched  the  eyelids  of 
the  sleeping  Demetrius  with  the  love-juice,  and 
he  instantly  awoke  ; and  the  first  thing  he  saw 
being  Helena,  he,  as  Lysander  had  done  before, 
began  to  address  love-specches  to  her  : and 
just  at  that  moment  Lysander,  followed  by 
Hermia  (for  through  Puck,  s unlucky  mistake  it 
wras  now  become  Hermia’s  turn  to  run  after 
her  lover),  made  his  appearance  ; and  then 
Lysander  and  Demetrius,  both  speaking  to- 
gether, made  love  to  Helena,  they  being  each 
one  under  the  influence  of  the  same  potent 
charm. 

The  astonished  Helena  thought  that  Deme- 
trius, Lysander,  and  her  once  dear  friend  Her- 
3 


34  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 

mia,  were  all  in  a plot  together  to  make  a jest 
of  her. 

Hermia  was  as  much  surprised  as  Helena  : she 
knew  not  why  Lysander  and  Demetrius,  who 
both  before  loved  her,  were  now  become  the 
lovers  of  Helena ; and  to  Hermia  the  matter 
seemed  to  be  no  jest. 

The  ladies,  who  before  had  always  been  the 
dearest  of  friends,  now  fell  to  high  words 
together. 

“ Unkind  Hermia,”  said  Helena,  “it  is  you 
have  set  Lysander  on,  to  vex  me  with  mock 
praises  ; and  your  other  lover  Demetrius,  who 
used  almost  to  spurn  me  with  his  foot,  have 
you  not  bid  him  call  me  Goddess,  Nymph,  rare, 
precious,  and  celestial  ? He  would  not  speak 
thus  to  me,  whom  he  hates,  if  you  did  not  set 
him  on  to  make  a jest  of  me.  Unkind  Hermia, 
to  join  with  men  in  scorning  your  poor  friend. 
Have  you  forgot  our  school-day  friendship  ? 
How  often,  Hermia,  have  we  two,  sitting  on 
one  cushion,  both  singing  one  song,  with  our 
needles  working  the  same  flower,  both  on  the 
same  sampler  wrought ; growing  up  together 
in  fashion  of  a double  cherry,  scarcely  seeming 
parted  ? Hermia,  it  is  not  friendly  in  you,  it  is 
not  maidenly,  to  join  with  men  in  scorning  your 
poor  friend.” 

“ I am  amazed  at  your  passionate  words,  ” 
said  Hermia : “ I scorn  you  not ; it  seems 
you  scorn  me.”  “ Ay,  do,”  returned  Helena, 
“persevere,  counterfeit  serious  looks,  and  make 
mouths  at  me  when  I turn  my  back  ; then  wink 


A MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.  35 

at  each  other,  and  hold  the  sweet  jest  up.  If 
you  had  any  pity,  grace,  or  manners,  you  would 
not  use  me  thus.” 

While  Helena  and  Hermia  were  speaking 
these  angry  words  to  each  other,  Demetrius 
and  Lysander  left  them,  to  fight  together  in  the 
wood  for  the  love  of  Helena. 

When  they  found  the  gentlemen  had  left 
them,  they  departed,  and  once  more  wandered 
weary  in  the  wood  in  search  of  their  lovers. 

As  soon  as  they  were  gone,  the  fairy  king, 
who  with  little  Puck  had  been  listening  to  their 
quarrels,  said  to  him,  “ This  is  your  negligence, 
Puck  ; or  did  you  do  this  willfully  ? ” “ Believe 
me,  king  of  shadows,”  answered  Puck,  “ it 
was  a mistake  : did  not  you  tell  me  I should 
know  the  man  by  his  Athenian  garments  ? 
However,  I am  not  sorry  this  has  happened, 
for  I think  their  jangling  makes  me  excellent 
sport.”  “ You  heard,”  said  Oberon,  “ that  De- 
metrius and  Lysander  are  gone  to  seek  a con- 
venient place  to  fight  in.  I command  you  to 
overhang  the  night  with  a thick  fog,  and  lead 
these  quarrelsome  lovers  so  astray  in  the  dark, 
that  they  shall  not  be  able  to  find  each  other. 
Counterfeit  each  of  their  voices  to  the  other,  and 
with  bitter  taunts  provoke  them  to  follow  you, 
while  they  think  it  is  their  rival’s  tongue  they 
hear.  See  you  do  this,  till  they  are  so  weary 
that  they  can  go  no  farther  ; and  when  you 
find  they  are  asleep,  drop  the  juice  of  this 
other  flower  into  Lysander’s  eyes,  and  when  he 
awakes  he  will  forget  his  new  love  for  Helena, 


36  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


and  return  to  his.  old  passion  for  Hermia  ; 
and  then  the  two  fair  ladies  may  each  one  be 
happy  with  the  man  she  loves  ; and  they  will 
think  all  that  has  passed  a vexatious  dream. 
About  this  quickly,  Puck;  and  I will  go  and 
see  what  sweet  love  my  Titania  has  found.” 
Titania  was  still  sleeping,  and  Oberon,  see- 
ing a clown  near  her,  who  had  lost  his  way  in 
the  wood,  and  was  likewise  asleep  : “ This 
fellow,”  said  he,  “ shall  be  my  Titania’s  true- 
love  ; ” and  clapping  an  ass’s  head  over  the 
clown’s,  it  seemed  to  fit  him  as  well  as  if  it 
had  grown  upon  his  own  shoulders.  Though 
Oberon  fixed  the  ass’s  head  on  very  gently,  it 
awakened  him,  and  rising  up,  unconscious  of 
what  Oberon  had  done  to  him,  he  went  towards 
the  bower  where  the  fairy  queen  slept. 

“ Ah ! what  angel  is  that  I see ! ” said 
Titania,  opening  her  eyes,  and  the  juice  of  the 
little  purple  flower  beginning  to  take  effect : 
46  Are  you  as  wise  as  you  are  beautiful  ? ” 

“ Why,  mistress,”  said  the  foolish  clown, 
“ if  I have  wit  enough  to  find  the  way  out  of 
this  wood,  I have  enough  to  serve  my  turn.” 

“ Out  of  the  wood  do  not  desire  to  go,”  said 
the  enamored  queen.  “ I am  a spirit  of  no 
common  rate.  I love  you.  Go  with  me,  and 
I will  give  you  fairies  to  attend  upon  you.” 

She  then  called  four  of  her  fairies  : their 
names  were  Pease-blossom,  Cobweb,  Moth, 
and  Mustard-seed. 

“ Attend,”  said  the  queen,  “ upon  this  sweet 
gentleman  ; hop  in  his  walks,  and  gambol  in 


A MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.  37 

his  sight ; feed  him  with  grapes  and  apricots,, 
and  steal  for  him  the  honey-bags  from  the  bees. 
Come,  sit  with  me,”  said  she  to  the  clown, 
“ and  let  me  play  with  your  amiable  hairy 
cheeks,  my  beautiful  ass  ! and  kiss  your  fair 
large  ears,  my  gentle  joy!  ” 

“ Where  is  Pease-blossom  ? ” said  the  ass- 
headed clown  ; not  much  regarding  the  fairy- 
queen’s  courtship,  but  very  proud  of  his  new 
attendants. 

“ Here,  sir,”  said  little  Pease-blossom. 

“ Scratch  my  head,”  said  the  clown. 
“ Where  is  Cobweb  ? ” 

“ Plere,  sir,”  said  Cobweb. 

“ Good  Mr.  Cobweb,”  said  the  foolish  clown, 
“kill  me  the  red  humble-bee  on  the  top  of  that 
thistle  yonder  ; and,  good  Mr.  Cobweb,  bring 
me  the  honey-bag.  Do  not  fret  yourself  too 
much  in  the  action,  Mr.  Cobweb,  and  take 
care  the  honey-bag  break  not ; I should  be 
sorry  to  have  you  overflown  with  a honey-bag. 
Where  is  Mustard-seed  ? ” 

“ Here,  sir,”  said  Mustard-seed  ; “ what  is 
your  will  ? ” 

“ Nothing,”  said  the  clown,  “ good  Mr. 
Mustard-seed,  but  to  help  Mr.  Pease-blossom 
to  scratch  : I must  go  to  a barber’s,  Mr.  Mus- 
tard-seed, for  methinks  I am  marvelous  hairy 
about  the  face.” 

“ My  sweet  love,”  said  the  queen,  “ what 
will  you  have  to  eat  ? I have  a venturous  fairy 
shall  seek  the  squirrel’s  hoard,  and  fetch  you 
some  new  nuts.” 


38  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 

“ I had  rather  have  a handful  of  dried  pease,” 
said  the  clown,  who  with  his  ass’s  head  had 
got  an  ass’s  appetite.  “ But,  I pray,  let  none 
of  your  people  disturb  me,  for  I have  a mind 
to  sleep.” 

“ Sleep  then,”  said  the  queen,  “and  I will 
wind  you  in  my  arms.  0 how  I love  you ! 
How  I dote  upon  you  ! ” 

When  the  fairy  king  saw  the  clown  sleeping 
in  the  arms  of  his  queen,  he  advanced  within 
her  sight,  and  reproached  her  with  having 
lavished  her  favors  upon  an  ass. 

This  she  could  not  deny,  as  the  clown  was 
then  sleeping  within  her  arms,  with  his  ass’s 
head  crowned  by  her  with  flowers. 

When  Oberon  had  teased  her  for  some  time, 
he  again  demanded  the  changeling-boy ; which 
she,  ashamed  of  being  discovered  by  her  lord 
with  her  new  favorite,  did  not  dare  to  refuse 
him. 

Oberon,  having  thus  obtained  the  little  boy 
he  had  so  long  wished  for  to  be  his  page,  took 
pity  on  the  disgraceful  situation  into  which,  by 
his  merry  contrivance,  he  had  brought  his 
Titania,  and  threw  some  of  the  juice  of  the 
other  flower  into  her  eyes  ; and  the  fairy-queen 
immediately  recovered  her  senses,  and  won- 
dered at  her  late  dotage,  saying  how  she  now 
loathed  the  sight  of  the  strange  monster. 

Oberon  likewise  took  the  ass’s  head  from 
off  the  clown,  and  left  him  to  finish  his  nap 
with  his  own  fool’s  head  upon  his  shoulders. 

Oberon  and  his  Titania  being  now  perfectly 


A MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.  39 

reconciled,  he  related  to  her  the  history  of  the 
lovers,  and  their  midnight  quarrels  ; and  she 
agreed  to  go  with  him,  and  see  the  end  of 
their  adventures. 

The  fairy  king  and  queen  found  the  lovers 
and  their  fair  ladies,  at  no  great  distance 
from  each  other,  sleeping  on  a grass-plot ; 
for  Puck,  to  make  amends  for  his  former 
mistake,  had  contrived  with  the  utmost  dili- 
gence to  bring  them  all  to  the  same  spot, 
unknown  to  each  other  ; and  he  had  carefully 
removed  the  charm  from  off  the  eyes  of 
Lysander  with  the  antidote  the  fairy  king 
gave  to  him. 

Hermia  first  awoke,  and  finding  her  lost 
Lysander  asleep  so  near  her,  was  looking  at 
him  and  wondering  at  his  strange  inconstancy. 
Lysander  presently  opening  his  eyes,  and  see- 
ing  his  dear  Hermia,  recovered  his  reason, 
which  the  fairy  charm  had  before  clouded,  and 
with  his  reason,  his  love  for  Hermia  ; and  they 
began  to  talk  over  the  adventures  of  the  night, 
doubting  if  these  things  had  really  happened, 
or  if  they  had  both  been  dreaming  the  same 
bewildering  dream. 

Helena  and  Demetrius  wrere  by  this  time 
awake ; and  a sweet  sleep  having  quieted 
Helena’s  disturbed  and  angry  spirits,  she  lis- 
tened with  delight  to  the  professions  of  love 
which  Demetrius  still  made  to  her,  and  which, 
to  her  surprise  as  well  as  pleasure,  she  began 
to  perceive  were  sincere. 

These  fair  night-wandering  ladies,  now  no 


40 


TALES  FROM  SHA  ICS  PE  A RE. 


longer  rivals,  became  once  more  true  friends ; 
all  the  unkind  words  which  had  passed  were 
forgiven,  and  they  calmly  consulted  together 
what  was  best  to  be  done  in  their  present  situa- 
tion. It  was  soon  agreed  that,  as  Demetrius 
had  given  up  his  pretensions  to  Hermia,  he 
should  endeavor  to  prevail  upon  her  father  to 
revoke  the  cruel  sentence  of  death  which  had 
been  passed  against  her.  Demetrius  was  pre- 
paring to  return  to  Athens  for  this  friendly 
purpose,  when  they  were  surprised  with  the 
sight  of  Egeus,  Hermia's  father,  who  came  to 
the  wood  in  pursuit  of  his  runaway  daughter. 

When  Egeus  understood  that  Demetrius 
would  not  now  marry  his  daughter,  he  no  longer 
opposed  her  marriage  with  Lysander,  but  gave 
his  consent  that  they  should  be  wedded  on  the 
fourth  day  from  that  time,  being  the  same  day 
on  which  Hermia  had  been  condemned  to  lose 
her  life  ; and  on  that  same  day  Helena  joyfully 
agreed  to  marry  her  beloved  and  now  faithful 
Demetrius. 

The  fairy  king  and  queen,  who  were  invisible 
spectators  of  this  reconciliation,  and  now  saw 
the  happy  ending  of  the  lovers’  history  brought 
about  through  the  good  offices  of  Oberon, 
received  so  much  pleasure,  that  these  kind 
spirits  resolved  to  celebrate  the  approaching 
nuptials  with  sports  and  revels  throughout  their 
fairy  kingdom. 

And  now,  if  any  are  offended  with  this  story 
of  fairies  and  their  pranks,  as  judging  it  in- 
credible and  strange,  they  have  only  to  think 


A MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM.  41 

that  they  have  been  asleep  and  dreaming,  and 
that  all  these  adventures  were  visions  which 
they  saw  in  their  sleep  : and  I hope  none  of 
my  readers  will  be  so  unreasonable  as  to  be 
offended  with  a pretty,  harmless  Midsummer 
Night’s  Dream. 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


In  the  city  of  Vienna  there  once  reigned  a 
duke  of  such  a mild  and  gentle  temper,  that  he 
suffered  his  subjects  to  neglect  the  laws  with 
impunity ; and  there  was  in  particular  one  law, 
the  existence  of  which  was  almost  forgotten, 
the  duke  never  having  put  it  in  force  during 
his  whole  reign.  This  was  a law  dooming  any 
man  to  the  punishment  of  death,  who  should 
live  with  a woman  that  was  not  his  wife  ; and 
this  law  through  the  lenity  of  the  duke  being 
utterly  disregarded,  the  holy  institution  of  mar- 
riage became  neglected,  and  complaints  were 
every  day  made  to  the  duke  by  the  parents  of  the 
young  ladies  in  Vienna,  that  their  daughters 
had  been  seduced  from  their  protection,  and 
were  living  as  the  companions  of  single  men. 

The  good  duke  perceived  with  sorrow  this 
growing  evil  among  his  subjects  ; but  he  thought 
that  a sudden  change  in  himself  from  the  in- 
dulgence he  had  hitherto  shown,  to  the  strict 
severity  requisite  to  check  this  abuse,  would 
make  his  people  (who  had  hitherto  loved  him  ) 
consider  him  as  a tyrant  : therefore  he  deter- 
mined to  absent  himself  a while  from  his  duke- 
dom and  depute  another  to  the  full  exercise  of 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


43 


his  power,  that  the  law  against  these  dishonor- 
able lovers  might  be  put  in  effect,  without 
giving  offense  by  an  unusual  severity  in  his 
own  person. 

Angelo,  a man  who  bore  the  reputation  of  a 
saint  in  Vienna  for  his  strict  and  rigid  life,  was 
chosen  by  the  duke  as  a fit  person  to  under- 
take this  important  charge  ; and  when  the  duke 
imparted  his  design  to  lord  Escalus,  his  chief 
councilor,  Escalus  said,  “ If  any  man  in  Vienna 
be  of  worth  to  undergo  such  ample  grace  and 
honor,  it  is  lord  Angelo.”  And  now  the  duke 
departed  from  Vienna  under  pretense  of  mak- 
ing a journey  into  Poland,  leaving  Angelo  to 
act  as  the  lord  deputy  in  his  absence ; but  the 
duke’s  absence  was  only  a feigned  one,  for  he 
privately  returned  to  Vienna,  habited  like  a 
friar,  with  the  intent  to  watch  unseen  the 
conduct  of  the  saintly-seeming  Angelo. 

It  happened  just  about  the  time  that  Angelo 
was  invested  with  his  new  dignity,  that  a gen- 
tleman, whose  name  was  Claudio,  had  seduced 
a young  lady  from  her  parents  ; and  for  this 
offense,  by  command  of  the  new  lord  deputy, 
Claudio  was  taken  up  and  committed  to  prison, 
and  by  virtue  of  the  old  law  which  had  so  long 
been  neglected,  Angelo  sentenced  Claudio  to 
be  beheaded.  Great  interest  was  made  for  the 
pardon  of  young  Claudio,  and  the  good  old 
lord  Escalus  himself  interceded  for  him. 
“ Alas,”  said  he,  “this  gentleman  whom  I 
would  save  had  an  honorable  father,  for  whose 
sake  I pray  you  pardon  the  young  man’s  trans- 


44  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 

gression.”  But  Angelo  replied,  “ We  must 
not  make  a scarecrow  of  the  law,  setting  it  up 
to  frighten  birds  of  prey,  till  custom,  finding  it 
harmless,  makes  it  their  perch,  and  not  their 
terror.  Sir,  he  must  die.” 

Lucio,  the  friend  of  Claudio,  visited  him  in 
the  prison,  and  Claudio  said  to  him,  “ I pray 
you,  Lucio,  do  me  this  kind  service.  Go  to  my 
sister  Isabel,  who  this  day  proposes  to  enter  the 
convent  of  Saint  Clare  ; acquaint  her  with  the 
danger  of  my  state  ; implore  her  that  she  make 
friends  with  the  strict  deputy  ; bid  her  go  her- 
self to  Angelo.  I have  great  hopes  in  that ; 
for  she  can  discourse  with  prosperous  art,  and 
well  she  can  persuade ; besides,  there  is  a 
speechless  dialect  in  youthful  sorrow  such  as 
moves  men.” 

Isabel,  the  sister  of  Claudio,  had,  as  he  said, 
that  day  entered  upon  her  novitiate  in  the 
convent,  and  it  was  her  intent,  after  passing 
through  her  probation  as  a novice,  to  take  the 
veil,  and  she  was  inquiring  of  a nun  concern- 
ing the  rules  of  the  convent  when  they  heard 
the  voice  of  Lucio,  who,  as  he  entered  that  re- 
ligious house,  said,  “ Peace  be  in  this  place ! ” 
“ Who  is  it  that  speaks  ? ” said  Isabel.  “ It 
is  a man’s  voice,”  replied  the  nun  : “ Gentle 
Isabel,  go  to  him  and  learn  his  business ; you 
may,  I may  not.  When  you  have  taken  the 
veil  you  must  not  speak  with  men  but  in  the 
presence  of  the  prioress  ; then  if  you  speak 
you  must  not  show  your  face,  or  if  you  show 
your  face  you  must  not  speak.”  “ And  have 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


45 


you  nuns  no  further  privileges  ? ” said  Isabel. 
“ Are  not  these  large  enough  ? ” replied  the 
nun.  “Yes,  truly,”  said  Isabel  : “I  speak 
not  as  desiring  more,  but  rather  wishing  a 
more  strict  restraint  upon  the  sisterhood,  the 
votarists  of  Saint  Clare.”  Again  they  heard 
the  voice  of  Lucio,  and  the  nun  said,  “ He  calls 
again.  I pray  you  answer  him.”  Isabel  then 
went  out  to  Lucio,  and  in  answer  to  his  saluta- 
tion said,  “ Peace  and  prosperity.  Who  is  it 
that  calls  ? ” Then  Lucio,  approaching  her 
with  reverence,  said,  “ Hail,  virgin,  if  such  you 
be,  as  the  roses  in  your  cheeks  proclaim  you 
are  no  less  ! can  you  bring  me  to  the  sight  of 
Isabel,  a novice  of  this  place,  and  the  fair  sis- 
ter to  her  unhappy  brother  Claudio  ?”  “ Why 

her  unhappy  brother  ? ” said  Isabel,  “ let  me 
ask  : for  I am  that  Isabel,  and  his  sister.” 
“Fair  and  gentle  lady,”  he  replied,  “your  bro- 
ther kindly  greets  you  by  me  ; he  is  in  prison.” 
“ Woe  is  me  ! for  what  ? ” said  Isabel.  Lucio 
then  told  her  Claudio  was  imprisoned  for  se- 
ducing a young  maiden.  “ Ah,”  said  she,  “ I 
fear  it  is  my  cousin  Juliet.”  Juliet  and  Isabel 
were  not  related,  but  they  called  each  other 
cousin  in  remembrance  of  their  school-days’ 
friendship ; and  as  Isabel  knew  that  Juliet 
loved  Claudio,  she  feared  she  had  been  led  by 
her  affection  for  him  into  this  transgression. 
“ She  it  is,”  replied  Lucio.  “ Why,  then,  let 
my  brother  marry  Juliet,”  said  Isabel.  Lucio 
replied  that  Claudio  would  gladly  marry  Juliet, 
but  that  the  lord  deputy  had  sentenced  him  to 


46  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 

die  for  his  offense;  “ unless/’  said  he,  “you 
have  the  grace  by  your  fair  prayer  to  soften 
Angelo,  and  that  is  my  business  between  you 
and  your  poor  brother.’’  “ Alas,”  said  Isabel, 
“ what  poor  ability  is  there  in  me  to  do  him 
good  ? I doubt  I have  no  power  to  move  An- 
gelo.” “ Our  doubts  are  traitors,”  said  Lucio, 
“ and  make  us  lose  the  good  we  might  often 
win  by  fearing  to  attempt  it.  Go  to  lord  An- 
gelo ! When  maidens  sue,  and  kneel,  and 
weep,  men  give  like  gods.”  “ I will  see  what 
I can  do,”  said  Isabel  : “ I will  but  stay  to 
give  the  prioress  notice  of  the  affair,  and  then 
I will  go  to  Angelo.  Commend  me  to  my 
brother : soon  at  night  I will  send  him  word 
of  my  success.” 

Isabel  hastened  to  the  palace,  and  threw  her- 
self on  her  knees  before  Angelo,  saying,  “ I am 
a woful  suitor  to  your  honor,  if  it  will  please 
your  honor  to  hear  me.”  “ Well,  what  is  your 
suit  ? ” said  Angelo.  She  then  made  her  peti- 
tion in  the  most  moving  terms  for  her  brother’s 
life.  But  Angelo  said,  “ Maiden,  there  is  no 
remedy  : your  brother  is  sentenced,  and  he 
must  die.”  “ O just,  but  severe  law ! ” said 
Isabel  : “ I had  a brother  then — Heaven  keep 
your  honor  ! ” and  she  was  about  to  depart. 
But  Lucio,  who  had  accompanied  her,  said, 
“ Give  it  not  over  so ; return  to  him  again,  en- 
treat him,  kneel  down  before  him,  hang  upon 
his  gown.  You  are  too  cold  ; if  you  should 
need  a pin,  you  could  not  with  a more  tame 
tongue  desire  it”  Then  again  Isabel  on  her 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE . 


47 


knees  implored  for  mercy.  “ He  is  sentenced/’ 
said  Angelo  : “ it  is  too  late.”  “Too  late  ! ” 
said  Isabel  : “ Why,  no  ; I that  do  speak  a 
word,  may  call  it  back  again.  Believe  this,  my 
lord,  no  ceremony  that  to  great  ones  belongs, 
not  the  king’s  crown,  nor  the  deputed  sword, 
the  marshal’s  truncheon,  nor  the  judge’s  robe, 
becomes  them  with  one  half  so  good  a grace  as 
mercy  does.”  “ Pray  you  be  gone,”  said  An- 
gelo. But  still  Isabel  entreated  ; and  she  said, 
“ If  my  brother  had  been  as  you,  and  you  as 
he,  you  might  have  slipped  like  him,  but  he  like 
you  would  not  have  been  so  stern.  I would  to 
Heaven  I had  your  power,  and  you  were  Isa- 
bel. Should  it  then  be  thus  ? No,  I would  tell 
you  what  it  were  to  be  a judge,  and  what  a pris- 
oner.” “ Be  content,  fair  maid  ! ” said  i\ngelo  : 
“ it  is  the  law,  not  I,  condemns  your  brother. 
Were  he  my  kinsman,  my  brother,  or  my  son, 
it  should  be  thus  with  him.  He  must  die  to- 
morrow.” “ To-morrow?  ” said  Isabel : “ Oh, 
that  is  sudden  : spare  him,  spare  him  ; he  is 
not  prepared  for  death.  Even  for  our  kitchens 
we  kill  the  fowl  in  season  ; shall  we  serve 
Heaven  with  less  respect  than  we  minister  to 
our  gross  selves  ? Good,  good,  my  lord,  be- 
think you,  none  have  died  for  my  brother’s 
offense,  though  many  have  committed  it.  So 
you  would  be  the  first  that  gives  this  sentence, 
and  he  the  first  that  suffers  it.  Go  to  your 
own  bosom,  my  lord  ; knock  there,  and  ask 
your  heart  what  it  does  know  that  is  like  my 
brother’s  fault : if  it  confess  a natural  guild- 


48  TALES  FROM  SH A KS PE  ARE. 

ness  such  as  his  is,  let  it  not  sound  a thought 
against  my  brother’s  life  J ” Her  last  words 
more  moved  Angelo  than  all  she  had  before 
said,  for  the  beauty  of  Isabel  had  raised  a 
guilty  passion  in  his  heart,  and  he  began  to 
form  thoughts  of  dishonorable  love,  such  as 
Claudio’s  crime  had  been  ; and  the  conflict  in 
his  mind  made  him  turn  away  from  Isabel  : 
but  she  called  him  back,  saying,  “ Gentle  my 
lord,  turn  back  ; hark,  how  I will  bribe  you. 
Good  my  lord,  turn  back  ! ” “ How  bribe 

me  ! ” said  Angelo,  astonished  that  she  should 
think  of  offering  him  a bribe.  “Ay,”  said 
Isabel,  “ with  such  gifts  that  Heaven  itself 
shall  share  with  you  ; not  with  golden  treas- 
ures, or  those  glittering  stones,  whose  price  is 
either  rich  or  poor  as  fancy  values  them,  but 
with  true  prayers  that  shall  be  up  to  Heaven 
before  sunrise — prayers  from  preserved  souls, 
from  fasting  maids  whose  minds  are  dedicated 
to  nothing  temporal.”  “ Well,  come  to  me  to- 
morrow,” said  Angelo.  And  for  this  short 
respite  of  her  brother’s  life,  and  for  this  per- 
mission that  she  might  be  heard  again,  she  left 
him  with  the  joyful  hope  that  she  should  at 
last  prevail  over  his  stern  nature  : and  as  she 
went  away  she  said,  “ Heaven  keep  your  honor 
safe  ! Heaven  save  your  honor  ! ” Which, 
when  Angelo  heard,  he  said  within  his  heart, 
“ Amen,  I would  be  saved  from  thee  and  from 
thy  virtues  : ” and  then,  affrighted  at  his  own 
evil  thoughts,  he  said,  “What  is  this?  What 
is  this  ? Do  I love  her,  that  I desire  to  hear 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


49 


her  speak  again,  and  feast  upon  her  eyes  ? 
What  is  it  I dream  on  ? The  cunning  enemy 
of  mankind,  to  catch  a saint,  with  saints  does 
bait  the  hook.  Never  could  an  immodest 
woman  once  stir  my  temper,  but  this  virtuous 
woman  subdues  me  quite.  Even  till  now,  when 
men  were  fond,  I smiled  and  wondered  at 
them/’ 

In  the  guilty  conflict  in  his  mind  Angelo 
suffered  more  that  night  than  the  prisoner  he 
had  so  severely  sentenced  ; for  in  the  prison 
Claudio  was  visited  by  the  good  duke,  who  in 
his  friar’s  habit  taught  the  young  man  the  way 
to  heaven,  preaching  to  him  the  words  of  pen- 
itence and  peace.  But  Angelo  felt  all  the 
pangs  of  irresolute  guilt : now  wishing  to  se- 
duce Isabel  from  the  paths  of  innocence  and 
honor,  and  now  suffering  remorse  and  horror 
for  a crime  as  yet  but  intentional.  But  in  the 
end  his  evil  thoughts  prevailed  ; and  he  who 
had  so  lately  started  at  the  offer  of  a bribe,  re- 
solved to  tempt  this  maiden  with  so  high  a 
bribe  as  she  might  not  be  able  to  resist,  even 
with  the  precious  gift  of  her  dear  brother’s 
life. 

When  Isabel  came  in  the  morning,  Angelo 
desired  she  might  be  admitted  alone  to  his 
presence  : and  being  there,  he  said  to  her,  if 
she  would  yield  to  him  her  virgin  honor,  and 
transgress  even  as  Juliet  had  done  with  Claudio, 
he  would  give  her  her  brother’s  life : “ For,” 
said  he,  “ I love  you,  Isabel.”  “ My  brother,” 
said  Isabel,  “ did  so  love  Juliet,  and  yet  you 
4 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEAR 


tell  me  he  shall  die  for  it,”  “ But/’  said 
Angelo,  “ Claudio  shall  not  die,  if  you  will  con- 
sent to  visit  me  by  stealth  at  night,  even  as 
Juliet  left  her  father's  house  at  night  to  come 
to  Claudio.”  Isabel  in  amazement  at  his 
words,  that  he  should  tempt  her  to  the  same 
fault  for  which  he  passed  sentence  of  death 
upon  her  brother,  said,  “ I would  do  as  much 
for  my  poor  brother  as  for  myself;  that  is, 
were  I under  sentence  of  death,  the  impression 
of  keen  whips  I would  wear  as  rubies,  and  go 
to  my  death  as  to  a bed  that  longing  I had 
been  sick  for,  ere  I would  yield  myself  up  to 
this  shame.”  And  then  she  told  him  she 
hoped  he  only  spoke  these  words  to  try  her 
virtue.  But  he  said,  “ Believe  me,  on  my 
honor,  my  words  express  my  purpose.”  Isabel, 
angered  to  the  heart  to  hear  him  use  the  word 
honor  to  express  such  dishonorable  purposes, 
said,  “ Ha  ! little  honor,  to  be  much  believed  ; 
and  most  pernicious  purpose.  I will  proclaim 
thee,  Angelo  ; look  for  it  ! Sign  me  a present 
pardon  for  my  brother,  or  I will  tell  the  world 
aloud  what  man  thou  art ! ” “ Who  will  be- 

lieve you,  Isabel  ? ” said  Angelo  ; “ my  unsoiled 
name,  the  austereness  of  my  life,  my  word 
vouched  against  yours,  will  outweigh  your 
accusation.  Redeem  your  brother  by  yielding 
to  my  will,  or  he  shall  die  to-morrow.  As  for 
you,  say  what  you  can,  my  false  will  over- 
weigh your  true  story.  Answer  me  to-morrow.” 
“ To  whom  should  I complain  ? Did  I tell 
this,  who  would  believe  me  ? ” said  Isabel,  as 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE . 51 

she  went  towards  the  dreary  prison  where  her 
brother  was  confined.  When  she  arrived 
there,  her  brother  was  in  pious  conversation 
with  the  duke,  who,  in  his  friar’s  habit,  had 
also  visited  Juliet,  and  brought  both  these 
guilty  lovers  to  a proper  sense  of  their  fault ; 
and  unhappy  Juliet  with  tears  and  a true  re- 
morse confessed,  that  she  was  more  to  blame 
than  Claudio,  in  that  she  willingly  consented 
to  his  dishonorable  solicitations. 

As  Isabel  entered  the  room  where  Claudio 
was  confined,  she  said,  “ Peace  be  here,  grace, 
and  good  company  ! ” “ Who  is  there  ? ” said 

the  disguised  duke  : “ come  in  ; the  wish  de- 
serves a welcome.”  “ My  business  is  a word 
or  two  with  Claudio,”  said  Isabel.  Then  the 
duke  left  them  together,  and  desired  the  pro- 
vost, who  had  the  charge  of  the  prisoners,  to 
place  him  where  he  might  overhear  their  con- 
versation. 

“ Now,  sister,  what  is  the  comfort  ? ” said 
Claudio.  Isabel  told  him  he  must  prepare  for 
death  on  the  morrow.  “ Is  there  no  remedy  ? ” 
said  Claudio.  “Yes,  brother,”  replied  Isabel, 
“ there  is  , but  such  a one,  as  if  you  consented 
to  it  would  strip  your  honor  from  you,  and 
leave  you  naked.”  “ Let  me  know  the  point,” 
said  Claudio.  “ O,  I do  fear  you,  Claudio  ! ” 
replied  his  sister ; “ and  I quake,  lest  you 
should  wish  to  live,  and  more  respect  the  tri- 
fling term  of  six  or  seven  winters  added  to  your 
life,  than  your  perpetual  honor ! Do  you 
dare  to  die  ? The  sense  of  death  is  most  in 


52  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 

apprehension,  and  the  poor  beetle  that  we  tread 
upon  feels  a pang  as  great  as  when  a giant 
dies.”  “ Why  do  you  give  me  this  shame  ? ” 
said  Claudio.  “ Think  you  I can  fetch  a res- 
olution from  flowery  tenderness  ? If  I must 
die,  I will  encounter  darkness  as  a bride,  and 
hug  it  in  my  arms.”  “ There  spoke  my 
brother,”  said  Isabel ; “ there  my  father’s  , 
grave  did  utter  forth  a voice.  Yes,  you  must 
die  ; yet,  would  you  think  it,  Claudio  ! this 
outward  sainted  deputy,  if  I would  yield  to  him 
my  virgin  honor,  would  grant  your  life.  O, 
were  it  but  my  life,  I would  lay  it  down  for 
your  deliverance  as  frankly  as  a pin ! ” 

“ Thanks,  dear  Isabel,”  said  Claudio.  “ Be 
ready  to  die  to-morrow,”  said  Isabel.  “ Death 
is  a fearful  thing,”  said  Claudio.  “ And 
shamed  life  a hateful,”  replied  his  sister.  But 
the  thoughts  of  death  overcame  the  constancy 
of  Claudio’s  temper,  and  terrors,  such  as  the 
guilty  only  at  their  deaths  do  know,  assailing 
him,  he  cried  out,  66  Sweet  sister,  let  me  live  ! 
The  sin  you  do  to  save  a brother’s  life,  nature 
dispenses  with  the  deed  so  far,  that  it  becomes 
a virtue.”  “ O faithless  coward  ! O dishonest 
wretch  ! ” said  Isabel : “ would  you  preserve 
your  life  by  your  sister’s  shame  ? O fie,  fie, 
fie  ! I thought,  my  brother,  you  had  in  you 
such  a mind  of  honor,  that  had  you  twenty 
heads  to  render  up  on  twenty  blocks,  you 
would  have  yielded  them  up  all,  before  your 
sister  should  stoop  to  such  dishonor.”  “Nay, 
hear  me,  Isabel ! ” said  Claudio.  But  what  he 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE . 


S3 


would  have  said  in  defense  of  his  weakness, 
in  desiring  to  live  by  the  dishonor  of  his 
virtuous  sister,  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance 
of  the  duke  ; who  said,  “ Claudio,  I have  over- 
heard what  has  passed  between  you  and  your 
sister.  Angelo  had  never  the  purpose  to  cor- 
rupt her  ; what  he  said  has  only  been  to  make 
trial  of  her  virtue.  She  having  the  truth  of 
honor  in  her,  has  given  him  that  gracious 
denial  which  he  is  most  glad  to  receive.  There 
is  no  hope  that  he  will  pardon  you  ; therefore 
pass  your  hours  in  prayer,  and  make  ready 
for  death. ” Then  Claudio  repented  of  his 
weakness,  and  said,  “ Let  me  ask  my  sister’s 
pardon  ! I am  so  out  of  love  with  life,  that  I 
will  sue  to  be  rid  of  it.”  And  Claudio  retired, 
overwhelmed  with  shame  and  sorrow  for  his 
fault. 

The  duke  being  now  alone  with  Isabel,  com- 
mended her  virtuous  resolution  saying,  “ The 
hand  that  made  you  fair,  has  made  you  good.” 
“ O,”  said  Isabel,  “ how  much  is  the  good  duke 
deceived  in  Angelo  ! if  ever  he  return,  and  I 
can  speak  to  him,  I will  discover  his  govern- 
ment.” Isabel  knew  not  that  she  was  even  now 
making  the  discovery  she  threatened.  The 
duke  replied,  “That  shall  not  be  much  amiss; 
yet,  as  the  matter  now  stands,  Angelo  will  repel 
your  accusation  ; therefore  lend  an  attentive 
ear  to  my  advisings.  I believe  that  you  may 
most  righteously  do  a poor  wronged  lady  a 
merited  benefit,  redeem  your  brother  from  the 
angry  law,  do  no  stain  to  your  own  most  gra- 


54 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


cious  person,  and  much  please  the  absent  duke 
if  peradventure  he  shall  ever  return  to  have 
notice  of  this  business.”  Isabel  said  she  had 
a spirit  to  do  anything  he  desired,  provided  it 
was  nothing  wrong.  “ Virtue  is  bold  and  never 
fearful,”  said  the  duke  : and  then  he  asked  her, 
if  she  had  ever  heard  of  Mariana,  the  sister  of 
Frederick,  the  great  soldier  who  was  drowned 
at  sea.  “I  have  heard  of  the  lady,”  said  Isa- 
bel, “ and  good  words  went  with  her  name.” 
“ This  lady,”  said  the  duke,  “ is  the  wife  of 
Angelo  ; but  her  marriage  dowry  was  on  board 
the  vessel  in  which  her  brother  perished,  and 
mark  how  heavily  this  befell  to  the  poor  gentle- 
woman ! for,  besides  the  loss  of  a most  noble 
and  renowned  brother,  who  in  his  love  towards 
her  was  the  most  kind  and  natural,  in  the  wreck 
of  her  fortune  she  lost  the  affections  of  her  hus- 
band, the  well-seeming  Angelo  ; who  pretend- 
ing to  discover  some  dishonor  in  this  honor- 
able lady  (though  the  true  cause  was  the  loss 
of  her  dowry),  left  her  in  her  tears,  and  dried 
not  one  of  them  with  his  comfort.  His  unjust 
unkindness,  that  in  all  reason  should  have 
quenched  her  love,  has,  like  an  impediment  in 
the  current,  made  it  more  unruly,  and  Mariana 
loves  her  cruel  husband  with  the  full  continu- 
ance of  her  first  affection.”  The  duke  then 
more  plainly  unfolded  his  plan.  It  was  that 
Isabel  should  go  to  lord  Angelo,  and  seemingly 
consent  to  come  to  him  as  he  desired,  at  mid- 
night; that  by  this  means  she  would  obtain  the 
promised  pardon  ; and  that  Mariana  should  go 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE . 


55 


in  her  stead  to  the  appointment,  and  pass  her- 
self upon  Angelo  in  the  dark  for  Isabel.  “ Nor, 
gentle  daughter,”  said  the  feigned  friar,  “fear 
you  to  do  this  thing ; Angelo  is  her  husband  ; 
and  to  bring  them  thus  together  is  no  sin.” 
Isabel  being  pleased  with  this  project,  departed 
\o  do  as  he  directed  her ; and  he  went  to 
apprise  Mariana  of  their  intention.  He  had 
before  this  time  visited  this  unhappy  lady  in 
his  assumed  character,  giving  her  religious 
instruction  and  friendly  consolation,  at  which 
limes  he  had  learned  her  sad  story  from  her 
cwn  lips  ; and  now  she,  looking  upon  him  as  a 
holy  man,  readily  consented  to  be  directed  by 
him  in  his  undertaking. 

When  Isabel  returned  from  her  interview 
with  Angelo,  to  the  house  of  Mariana,  where  the 
duke  had  appointed  her  to  meet  him,  he  said, 
“ Well  met,  and  in  good  time  ; what  is  the  news 
from  this  good  deputy  ? ” Isabel  related  the 
manner  in  which  she  had  settled  the  affair. 
“ Angelo,”  said  she,  “ has  a garden  surrounded 
with  a brick  wall,  on  the  western  side  of  which 
is  a vineyard,  and  to  that  vineyard  is  a gate.” 
And  then  she  showed  to  the  duke  and  Mariana 
two  keys  that  Angelo  had  given  her  ; and  she 
said,  “ This  bigger  key  opens  the  vineyard  gate 
this  other  a little  door  which  leads  from  the 
vineyard  to  the  garden.  There  I have  made 
my  promise  at  the  dead  of  the  night  to  call 
upon  him,  and  have  got  from  him  his  word  of 
assurance  for  my  brother’s  life.  I have  taken 
a due  and  wary  note  of  the  place  : and  with 


56  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 

whispering  and  most  guilty  diligence  he  showed 
me  the  way  twice  over.”  “ Are  there  no  other 
tokens  agreed  upon  between  you,  that  Mariana 
must  observe  ? ” said  the  duke.  “ No,  none,” 
said  Isabel,  “ only  to  go  when  it  is  dark.  I 
have  told  him  my  time  can  be  but  short ; for  I 
have  made  him  think  a servant  comes  along 
with  me,  and  that  this  servant  is  persuaded 
I come  about  my  brother.”  The  duke  com- 
mended  her  discreet  management,  and  she, 
turning  to  Mariana,  said,  “ Little  have  you  td 
say  to  Angelo,  when  you  depart  from  him,  but* 
soft  and  low,  Remember  now  my  brother  ! ” 
Mariana  was  that  night  conducted  to  the  ap- 
pointed place  by  Isabel  who  rejoiced  that  she 
had,  as  she  supposed,  by  this  devise  preserved 
both  her  brother’s  life  and  her  own  honor. 
But  that  her  brother’s  life  was  safe  the  duke 
was  not  well  satisfied,  and  therefore  at  mid- 
night he  again  repaired  to  the  prison  ; and  it 
was  well  for  Claudio  that  he  did  so,  else  would 
Claudio  have  that  night  been  beheaded ; for, 
soon  after  the  duke  entered  the  prison,  an 
order  came  from  the  cruel  deputy,  command- 
ing that  Claudio  should  be  beheaded,  and  his 
head  sent  to  him  by  five  o’clock  in  the  morn 
ing.  But  the  duke  persuaded  the  provost  to 
put  off  the  execution  of  Claudio,  and  to  de- 
ceive Angelo,  by  sending  him  the  head  of  a 
man  who  died  that  morning  in  the  prison. 
And  to  prevail  upon  the  provost  to  agree  to 
this,  the  duke,  whom  still  the  provost  suspect- 
ed not  to  be  anything  more  or  greater  than 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE . 


57 


he  seemed,  showed  the  provost  a letter  written 
with  the  duke’s  hand,  and  sealed  with  his  seal, 
which  when  the  provost  saw,  he  concluded 
this  friar  must  have  some  secret  order  from 
the  absent  duke,  and  therefore  he  consented 
to  spare  Claudio ; and  he  cut  off  the  dead 
man’s  head,  and  carried  it  to  Angelo. 

Then  the  duke,  in  his  own  name,  wrote  to  An- 
gelo a letter,  saying  that  certain  acccidents  had 
put  a stop  to  his  journey,  and  that  he  should  be 
in  Vienna  by  the  following  morning,  requiring 
Angelo  to  meet  him  at  the  entrance  of  the 
city,  there  to  deliver  up  his  authority;  and 
the  duke  also  commanded  it  to  be  proclaimed, 
that  if  any  of  his  subjects  craved  redress  for 
injustice  they  should  exhibit  their  petitions  in 
the  street  on  his  first  entrance  into  the  city. 

Early  in  the  morning  Isabel  came  to  the 
prison,  and  the  duke,  who  there  awaited  her 
coming,  for  secret  reasons  thought  it  good 
to  tell  her  that  Claudio  was  beheaded ; there- 
fore when  Isabel  inquired  if  Angelo  had  sent 
the  pardon  for  her  brother,  he  said,  “ Angelo 
has  released  Claudio  from  this  world.  His 
head  is  off,  and  sent  to  the  deputy.”  The 
much-grieved  sister  cried  out,  “ O unhappy 
Claudio,  wretched  Isabel,  injurious  world,  most 
wicked  Angelo  1 ” The  seeming  friar  bade  her 
take  comfort,  and  when  she  was  become  a little 
calm,  he  acquainted  her  with  the  near  prospect 
of  the  duke’s  return,  and  told  her  in  what 
manner  she  should  proceed  in  preferring  her 
complaint  against  Angelo ; and  he  bade  her 


58  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 

not  to  fear  if  the  cause  should  seem  to  go 
against  her  for  a while.  Leaving  Isabel 
sufficiently  instructed,  he  next  went  to  Mariana, 
and  gave  her  counsel  in  what  manner  she  also 
should  act. 

Then  the  duke  laid  aside  his  friar’s  habit, 
and  in  his  own  royal  robes,  amidst  a joyful 
crowd  of  his  faithful  subjects  assembled  to 
greet  his  arrival,  entered  the  city  of  Vienna, 
where  he  was  met  by  Angelo,  who  delivered 
up  his  authority  in  the  proper  form.  And 
there  came  Isabel,  in  the  manner  of  a petitioner 
for  redress,  and  said,  “ Justice,  most  royal 
duke  ! I am  the  sister  of  one  Claudio,  who 
for  the  seducing  a young  maid  was  condemned 
to  lose  his  head.  I made  my  suit  to  lord 
Angelo  for  my  brother’s  pardon.  It  were  need- 
less to  tell  your  grace  how  I prayed  and 
kneeled,  how  he  repelled  me,  and  how  I 
replied  ; for  this  was  of  much  length.  The 
vile  conclusion  I now  begin  with  grief  and 
shame  to  utter.  Angelo  would  not  but  by  my 
yielding  to  his  dishonorable  love  release  my 
brother  ; and  after  much  debate  within  myself, 
my  sisterly  remorse  overcame  my  virtue,  and 
I did  yield  to  him.  But  the  next  morning 
betimes,  Angelo,  forfeiting  his  promise,  sent  a 
warrant  for  my  poor  brother’s  head  ! *’  The 
duke  affected  to  disbelieve  her  story ; and 
Angelo  said  that  grief  for  brother’s  death,  who 
had  suffered  by  the  due  course  of  the  law,  had 
disordered  her  senses.  And  now  another 
suitor  approached,  which  was  Mariana  ; and 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE . 


59 


Mariana  said,  “ Noble  prince,  as  there  comes 
light  from  heaven,  and  truth  from  breath,  as 
there  is  sense  in  truth,  and  truth  in  virtue, 
I am  this  man’s  wife,  and,  my  good  lord, 
the  words  of  Isabel  are  false,  for  the  night 
she  says  she  was  with  Angelo,  I passed  that 
night  with  him  in  the  garden-house.  As  this 
is  true,  let  me  in  safety  rise,  or  else  forever 
be  fixed  here  a marble  monument.”  Then  did 
Isabel  appeal  for  the  truth  of  what  she  had 
said  to  friar  Lodowick,  that  being  the  name 
the  duke  had  assumed  in  his  disguise.  Isabel 
and  Mariana  had  both  obeyed  his  instructions 
in  what  they  said,  the  duke  intending  that  the 
innocence  of  Isabel  should  be  plainly  proved 
in  that  public  manner  before  the  whole  city  of 
Vienna  : but  Angelo  little  thought  that  it  was 
from  such  a cause  that  they  thus  differed  in 
their  story,  and  he  hoped  from  their  con- 
tradictory evidence  to  be  able  to  clear  himself 
from  the  accusation  of  Isabel ; and  he  said, 
assuming  the  look  of  offended  innocence,  “ I 
did  but  smile  till  now  ; but,  good  my  lord,  my 
patience  here  is  touched,  and  I perceive  these 
poor  distracted  women  are  but  the  instruments 
of  some  greater  one,  who  sets  them  on.  Let 
me  have  way,  my  lord,  to  find  this  practice 
out.”  “ Ay,  with  all  my  heart,”  said  the  duke, 
“ and  punish  them  to  the  height  of  your 
pleasure.  You,  lord  Escalus,  sit  with  lord 
Angelo,  lend  him  your  pains  to  discover  this 
abuse  ; the  friar  is  sent  for  that  set  them  on, 
and  when  he  comes,  do  with  your  injuries  as 


6o 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


may  seem  best  in  any  chastisement.  I for  a 
while  will  leave  you,  but  stir  not  you,  lord 
Angelo,  till  you  have  well  determined  upon 
this  slander.”  The  duke  then  went  away, 
leaving  Angelo  well  pleased  to  be  deputed 
judge  and  umpire  in  his  own  cause.  But  the 
duke  was  absent  only  while  he  threw  off  his 
royal  robes  and  put  on  his  friar’s  habit  ; and 
in  that  disguise  again  he  presented  himself 
before  Angelo  and  Escalus  : and  the  good  old 
Escalus,  who  thought  Angelo  had  been  falsely 
accused,  said  to  the  supposed  friar,  “ Come, 
sir,  did  you  set  these  women  on  to  slander 
lord  Angelo  ? ” He  replied,  “ Where  is  the 
duke?  It  is  he  should  hear  me  speak.” 
Escalus  said,  “ The  duke  is  in  us,  and  we  will 
hear  you.  Speak  justly.”  “ Boldly  at  least,” 
retorted  the  friar : and  then  he  blamed  the 
duke  for  leaving  the  cause  of  Isabel  in  the 
hands  of  him  she  had  accused,  and  spoke 
so  freely  of  many  corrupt  practices  he  had 
observed,  while,  as  he  said,  he  had  been  a look- 
er-on in  Vienna,  that  Escalus  threatened  him 
with  the  torture  for  speaking  words  against  the 
state,  and  for  censuring  the  conduct  of  the 
duke,  and  ordered  him  to  be  taken  away  to 
prison.  Then,  to  the  amazement  of  all 
present,  and  to  the  utter  confusion  of  Angelo, 
the  supposed  friar  threw  off  his  disguise,  and 
they  saw  it  was  the  duke  himself. 

The  duke  first  addressed  Isabel.  He  said 
to  her,  “ Come  hither,  Isabel.  Your  friar  is 
now  your  prince,  but  with  my  habit  I have 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 


61 


not  changed  my  heart.  I am  still  devoted  to 
your  service.’’  “ 0 give  me  pardon,”  said 
Isabel,  “ that  I,  your  vassal,  have  employed 
and  troubled  your  unknown  sovereignty.”  He 
answered  that  he  had  most  need  of  forgiveness 
from  her  for  not  having  prevented  the  death 
of  her  brother — for  not  yet  wouid  he  tell  her 
that  Claudio  was  living ; meaning  first  to 
make  a farther  trial  of  her  goodness.  Angelo 
now  knew  the  duke  had  been  a secret  witness 
of  his  bad  deeds,  and  he  said,  “ O my  dread 
lord,  I should  be  guiltier  than  my  guiltiness, 
to  think  I can  be  undiscernible,  when  I 
perceive  your  grace,  like  power  divine,  has 
looked  upon  my  actions.  Then,  good  prince, 
no  longer  prolong  my  shame,  but  let  my  trial 
be  my  own  confession.  Immediate  sentence 
and  death  is  all  the  grace  I beg.”  The  duke 
replied,  “ Angelo,  thy  faults  are  manifest.  We 
do  condemn  thee  to  the  very  block  where 
Claudio  stooped  to  death  ; and  with  like  haste 
away  with  him ; and  for  his  possessions, 
Mariana,  we  do  instate  and  widow  you 
withal,  to  buy  you  a better  husband.”  “ O 
my  dear  lord,”  said  Mariana,  “ I crave  no 
other,  nor  no  better  man:  ” and  then  on  her 
knees,  even  as  Isabel  had  begged  the  life  of 
Claudio,  did  this  kind  wife  of  an  ungrateful 
husband  beg  the  life  of  Angelo  ; and  she  said, 
“ Gentle  my  liege,  O good  my  lord  ! Sweet 
Isabel,  take  my  part  ! Lend  me  your  knees, 
and,  all  my  life  to  come,  I will  lend  you  all  my 
life  to  do  you  service  1 ” The  duke  said, 


62  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 

4,1  Against  all  sense  you  importune  her.  Should 
Isabel  kneel  down  to  beg  for  mercy,  her 
brother’s  ghost  would  break  his  paved  bed,  and 
take  her  hence  in  horror.”  Still  Mariana  said, 
“ Isabel,  sweet  Isabel,  do  but  kneel  by  me, 
hold  up  your  hand,  say  nothing  ! I will  speak 
all.  They  say,  best  men  are  molded  out  of 
faults,  and  for  the  most  part  become  much  the 
better  for  being  a little  bad.  So  may  my  hus- 
band. Oh,  Isabel,  will  you  not  lend  a knee  ? ” 
The  duke  then  said,  “ He  dies  for  Claudio.” 
But  much  pleased  was  the  good  duke  when  his 
own  Isabel,  from  whom  he  expected  all  gracious 
and  honorable  acts,  kneeled  down  before  him, 
and  said,  “ Most  bounteous  sir,  look,  if  it  please 
you,  on  this  man  condemned,  as  if  my  brother 
lived.  I partly  think  a due  sincerity  governed 
his  deeds,  till  he  did  look  on  me.  Since  it  is 
so,  let  him  not  die ! My  brother  had  but 
justice,  in  that  he  did  the  thing  for  which  he 
died.” 

The  duke,  as  the  best  reply  he  could  make  to 
this  noble  petitioner  for  her  enemy’s  life,  send- 
ing for  Claudio  from  his  prison-house,  where 
he  lay  doubtful  of  his  destiny,  presented  to  her 
this  lamented  brother  living  ; and  he  said  to 
Isabel,  “Give  me  your  hand,  Isabel;  for  your 
lovely  sake  I pardon  Claudio.  Say  you  will  be 
mine,  and  he  shall  be  my  brother  too.”  By 
this  time  lord  Angelo  perceived  he  was  safe  ; 
and  the  duke,  observing  his  eye  to  brighten  up 
a little,  said,  “ Well,  Angelo,  look  that  you  love 
your  wife  ; her  worth  has  obtained  your  pardon . 


MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE.  63 

joy  to  you,  Mariana ! Love  her,  Angelo ! I 
have  confessed  her  and  know  her  virtue.” 
Angelo  remembered,  when  dressed  in  a little 
brief  authority,  how  hard  his  heart  had  been, 
and  felt  how  sweet  is  mercy. 

The  duke  commanded  Claudio  to  marry 
Juliet,  and  offered  himself  again  to  the  accept- 
ance of  Isabel,  whose  virtuous  and  noble  con- 
duct had  won  her  prince’s  heart.  Isabel,  not 
having  taken  the  veil,  was  free  to  marry ; and 
the  friendly  offices,  while  hid  under  the  dis- 
guise of  a humble  friar,  which  the  noble  duke 
had  done  for  her,  made  her  with  grateful  joy 
accept  the  honor  he  offered  her;  and  when 
she  became  duchess  of  Vienna,  the  excellent 
example  of  the  virtuous  Isabel  worked  such  a 
complete  reformation  among  the  young  ladies  of 
that  city,  that  from  that  time  none  ever  fell  into 
the  transgression  of  Juliet,  the  repentant  wife 
of  the  reformed  Claudio.  And  the  mercy-loving 
duke  long  reigned  with  his  beloved  Isabel,  the 
happiest  of  husbands  and  of  princes. 


THE  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


Katherine,  the  Shrew,  was  the  eldest  daugh- 
ter of  Baptista,  a rich  gentleman  of  Padua. 
She  was  a lady  of  such  an  ungovernable  spirit 
and  fiery  temper,  such  a loud-tongued  scold, 
that  she  was  known  in  Padua  by  no  other  name 
than  Katherine  the  Shrew.  It  seemed  very 
unlikely,  indeed  impossible,  that  any  gentleman 
would  ever  be  found  who  would  venture  to 
marry  this  lady,  and  therefore  Baptista  was 
much  blamed  for  deferring  his  consent  to  many 
excellent  offers  that  were  made  to  her  gentle 
sister  Bianca,  putting  off  all  Bianca’s  suitors 
with  this  excuse,  that  when  the  eldest  sister 
was  fairly  off  his  hands  they  should  have  free 
leave  to  address  young  Bianca. 

It  happened,  however,  that  a gentleman 
named  Petruchio  came  to  Padua,  purposely  to 
look  out  for  a wife,  who,  nothing  discouraged 
by  these  reports  of  Katherine’s  temper,  and 
hearing  she  was  rich  and  handsome,  resolved 
upon  marrying  this  famous  termagant,  and 
taming  her  into  a meek  and  manageable  wife. 
And  truly  none  was  so  fit  to  set  about  this 
herculean  labor  as  Petruchio,  whose  spirit 
was  as  high  as  Katherine’s,  and  he  was  a 
witty  and  most  happy-tempered  humorist ; and 


THE  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  65 

withal  so  wise,  and  of  such  a true  judgment, 
that  he  well  knew  how  to  feign  a passionate 
and  furious  deportment,  when  his  spirits  were 
so  calm  that  himself  could  have  laughed  mer- 
rily at  his  own  angry  feigning,  for  his  natural 
temper  was  careless  and  easy  ; the  boisterous 
airs  he  assumed  when  he  became  the  husband 
of  Katherine  being  but  in  sport,  or  more  prop- 
erly speaking,  affected  by  his  excellent  dis- 
cernment, as  the  only  means  to  overcome  in 
in  her  own  way  the  passionate  ways  of  the 
furious  Katherine. 

A courting  then  Petruchio  went  to  Katherine 
the  Shrew,  and  first  of  all  he  applied  to  Bap- 
tista,  her  father,  for  leave  to  woo  his  gentle 
daughter  Katherine,  as  Petruchio  called  her, 
saying  archly  that  having  heard  of  her  bashful 
modesty  and  mild  behavior,  he  had  come 
from  Verona  to  solicit  her  love.  Her  father, 
though  he  wished  her  married,  was  forced  to 
confess  Katherine  would  ill  answer  this  char- 
acter, it  being  soon  apparent  of  what  manner 
of  gentleness  she  was  composed,  for  her  music- 
master  rushed  into  the  room  to  complain  that 
the  gentle  Katherine,  his  pupil,  had  broken 
his  head  with  her  lute,  for  presuming  to  find 
fault  with  her  performance ; which,  when 
Petruchio  heard,  he  said,  “ It  is  a brave  wench  ; 
I love  her  more  than  ever,  and  long  to  have 
some  chat  with  her ; ” and  hurrying  the  old 
gentleman  for  a positive  answer,  he  said,  “ My 
business  is  in  haste,  signor  Baptista,  I cannot 
come  every  day  to  woo.  You  knew  my  father. 
5 


66 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


He  is  dead,  and  has  left  me  heir  to  all  his 
lands  and  goods.  Then  tell  me,  if  I get  your 
daughter’s  love,  what  dowry  you  will  give  with 
her.”  Baptista  thought  his  manner  was  some- 
what blunt  for  a lover ; but  being  glad  to  get 
Katherine  married,  he  answered  that  he  would 
give  her  twenty  thousand  crowns  for  her  dowry, 
and  half  his  estate  at  his  death  : so  this  odd 
match  was  quickly  agreed  on,  and  Baptista 
went  to  apprise  his  shrewish  daughter  of  her 
lover’s  addresses,  and  sent  her  in  to  Petruchio 
to  listen  to  his  suit. 

In  the  meantime  Petruchio  was  settling 
with  himself  the  mode  of  courtship  he  should 
pursue  : and  he  said,  “ I will  woo  her  with 
some  spirit  when  she  comes.  If  she  rails  at 
me,  why,  then  I will  tell  her  she  sings  as 
sweetly  as  a nightingale ; and  if  she  frowns,  I 
will  say  she  looks  as  clear  as  roses  newly 
washed  with  dew.  If  she  will  not  speak  a 
word,  I will  praise  the  eloquence  of  her 
language ; and  if  she  bids  me  leave  her,  I will 
give  her  thanks  as  if  she  bid  me  stay  with  her 
a week.”  Now  the  stately  Katherine  entered, 
and  Petruchio  first  addressed  her  with  “ Good 
morrow,  Kate,  for  that  is  your  name  I hear.” 
Katherine,  not  liking  this  plain  salutation,  said 
disdainfully,  “ They  call  me  Katherine  who  do 
speak  to  me.”  “You  lie,”  replied  the  lover; 
“ for  you  are  called  plain  Kate,  and  bonny 
Kate,  and  sometimes  Kate  the  Shrew  ; but, 
Kate,  you  are  the  prettiest  Kate  in  Christen- 
dom, and  therefore,  Kate,  hearing  your  mild- 


THE  TAMING  OF  THE  SHE E W.  67 

ness  praised  in  every  town,  I am  come  to  woo 
you  for  my  wife.” 

A strange  courtship  they  made  of  it.  She 
in  loud  and  angry  terms  showing  him  how 
justly  she  had  gained  the  name  of  Shrew, 
while  he  still  praised  her  sweet  and  courteous 
words,  till  at  length,  hearing  her  father  coming, 
he  said  (intending  to  make  as  quick  a wooing 
as  possible),  “ Sweet  Katherine,  let  us  set  this 
idle  chat  aside,  for  your  father  has  consented 
that  you  shall  be  my  wife,  your  dowry  is 
agreed  on,  and  whether  you  will  or  no,  I will 
marry  you.” 

And  now  Baptista  entering,  Petruchio  told 
him  that  his  daughter  had  received  him 
kindly,  and  that  she  had  promised  to  be 
married  the  next  Sunday.  This  Katherine 
denied,  saying  she  would  rather  see  him 
hanged  on  Sunday,  and  reproached  her  father 
for  wishing  to  wed  her  to  such  a mad-cap 
ruffian  as  Petruchio.  Petruchio  desired  her 
father  not  to  regard  her  angry  words,  for  they 
had  agreed  she  should  seem  reluctant  before 
him,  but  that  when  they  were  alone  he  had 
found  her  very  fond  and  loving  ; and  he  said 
to  her,  “ Give  me  your  hand,  Kate  ; I will  go 
to  Venice  to  buy  you  fine  apparel  against  our 
wedding-day.  Provide  the  feast,  father,  and 
bid  the  wedding  guests.  I will  be  sure  to 
bring  rings,  fine  array,  and  rich  clothes,  that 
my  Katherine  may  be  fine ; and  kiss  me, 
Kate,  for  we  will  be  married  on  Sunday.” 

On  the  Sunday  all  the  wedding  guests  were 


68 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


assembled,  but  they  waited  long  before  Pe- 
truchio came,  and  Katherine  wept  for  vexation 
to  think  that  Petruchio  had  only  been  making 
a jest  of  her.  At  last,  however,  he  appeared, 
but  he  brought  none  of  the  bridal  finery  he 
had  promised  Katherine,  nor  was  he  dressed 
himself  like  a bridegroom,  but  in  strange  dis- 
ordered attire,  as  if  he  meant  to  make  a sport 
of  the  serious  business  he  came  about ; and 
his  servants  and  the  very  horses  on  which  they 
rode  were  in  like  manner  in  mean  and  fantastic 
fashion  habited. 

Petruchio  could  not  be  persuaded  to  change 
his  dress ; he  said  Katherine  was  to  be  married 
to  him,  and  not  to  his  clothes  ; and  finding  it 
was  in  vain  to  argue  with  him,  to  the  church 
they  went,  he  still  behaving  in  the  same  mad 
way,  for  when  the  priest  asked  Petruchio  if 
Katherine  should  be  his  wife,  he  swore  so  loud 
that  she  should,  that,  all-amazed,  the  priest  let 
fall  his  book,  and  as  he  stooped  to  take  it  up, 
this  mad-brained  bridegroom  gave  him  such 
a cuff,  that  down  fell  the  priest  and  his  book 
again.  And  all  the  while  they  were  being 
married  he  stamped  and  swore  so,  that  the 
high-spirited  Katherine  trembled  and  shook 
with  fear.  After  the  ceremony  was  over, 
while  they  were  yet  in  the  church,  he  called  for 
wine,  and  drank  a loud  health  to  the  com- 
pany, and  threw  a sop  which  was  at  the 
bottom  of  the  glass  full  in  the  sexton’s  face, 
giving  no  other  reason  for  this  strange  act 
than  that  the  sexton’s  beard  grew  thin  and 


THE  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  69 

hungerly,  and  seemed  to  ask  the  sop  as  he 
was  drinking.  Never  sure  was  there  such  a 
mad  marriage  ; but  Petruchio  did  but  put  this 
wildness  on,  the  better  to  succeed  in  the  plot 
he  had  formed  to  tame  his  shrewish  wife. 

Baptista  had  provided  a sumptuous  marriage 
feast,  but  when  they  returned  from  church, 
Petruchio,  taking  hold  of  Katherine,  declared 
his  intention  of  carrying  his  wife  home 
instantly;  and  no  remonstrance  of  his  father- 
in-law,  or  angry  words  of  the  enraged 
Katherine,  could  make  him  change  his  pur- 
pose ; he  claimed  a husband’s  right  to  dispose 
of  his  wife  as  he  pleased,  and  away  he  hurried 
Katherine  off  : he  seemed  so  daring  and  reso- 
lute that  no  one  dared  attempt  to  stop  him. 

Petruchio  mounted  his  wife  upon  a miserable 
horse,  lean  and  lank,  which  he  had  picked  out 
for  the  purpose,  and  himself  and  his  servant 
no  better  mounted  ; they  journeyed  on  through 
rough  and  miry  ways,  and  ever  when  this 
horse  of  Katherine’s  stumbled,  he  would 
storm  and  swear  at  the  poor  jaded  beast,  who 
could  scarce  crawl  under  his  burthen,  as  if  he 
had  been  the  most  passionate  man  alive. 

At  length,  after  a weary  journey,  during 
which  Katherine  had  heard  nothing  but  the 
wild  ravings  of  Petruchio  at  the  servant  and 
the  horses,  they  arrived  at  his  house.  Petru- 
chio welcomed  her  kindly  to  her  home,  but  he 
resolved  that  she  should  have  neither  rest  nor 
food  that  night.  The  tables  were  spread,  and 
supper  soon  served  ; but  Petruchio,  pretending 


7° 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


to  find  fault  with  every  dish,  threw  the  meat 
about  the  floor,  and  ordered  the  servants  to 
remove  it  away,  and  all  this  he  did,  as  he 
said,  in  love  for  his  Katherine,  that  she  might 
not  eat  meat  that  was  not  well-dressed.  And 
when  Katherine,  weary  and  supperless,  retired 
to  rest,  he  found  the  same  fault  with  the  bed, 
throwing  the  pillows  and  bed-clothes  about  the 
room,  so  that  she  was  forced  to  sit  down  in  a 
chair,  where  if  she  chanced  to  drop  asleep,  she 
was  presently  awakened  by  the  loud  voice  of 
her  husband,  storming  at  the  servants  for  the 
ill-making  of  his  wife’s  bridal-bed. 

The  next  day  Petruchio  pursued  the  same 
course,  still  speaking  kind  words  to  Katherine, 
but  when  she  attempted  to  eat,  finding  fault 
with  everything  that  was  set  before  her,  throw- 
ing the  breakfast  on  the  floor  as  he  had  done 
the  supper ; and  Katherine,  the  haughty  Kath- 
erine, was  fain  to  beg  the  servants  to  bring 
her  secretly  a morsel  of  food,  but  they,  being 
instructed  by  Petruchio,  replied  they  dared  not 
give  her  anything  unknown  to  their  master. 
“Ah,”  said  she,  “did  he  marry  me  to  famish 
me  ? Beggars  that  come  to  my  father’s  door 
have  food  given  them.  But  I,  who  never  knew 
what  it  was  to  entreat  for  anything,  am  starved 
for  want  of  food,  giddy  for  want  of  sleep,  with 
oaths  kept  waking,  and  with  brawling  fed,  and 
that  which  vexes  me  more  than  all,  he  does  it 
under  the  name  of  perfect  love,  pretending 
that  if  I sleep  or  eat,  it  were  present  death  to 
me.”  Here  her  soliloquy  was  interrupted  by 


THE  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  71 

the  entrance  of  Petruchio : he,  not  meaning 
she  should  be  quite  starved,  had  brought  her 
a small  portion  of  meat,  and  he  said  to  her, 
“ How  fares  my  sweet  Kate  ? Here,  love,  you 
see  how  diligent  I am,  I have  dressed  your 
meat  myself.  I am  sure  this  kindness  merits 
thanks.  What,  not  a word  ! Nay,  then,  you 
love  not  the  meat,  and  all  the  pains  I have 
taken  is  to  no  purpose.”  He  then  ordered  the 
servant  to  take  the  dish  away.  Extreme  hun- 
ger, which  had  abated  the  pride  of  Katherine, 
made  her  say,  though  angered  to  the  heart, 
“ I pray  you  let  it  stand.”  But  this  was  not 
all  Petruchio  intended  to  bring  her  to,  and  he 
replied,  “ The  poorest  service  is  repaid  with 
thanks,  and  so  shall  mine  before  you  touch 
the  meat.”  On  this  Katherine  brought  out  a 
reluctant  “ I thank  you,  sir.”  And  now  he 
suffered  her  to  make  a slender  meal,  saying, 
“ Much  good  may  it  do  your  gentle  heart, 
Kate  ; eat  apace  ! And  now,  my  honey  love, 
we  will  return  to  your  father’s  house,  and  revel 
it  as  bravely  as  the  best,  with  silken  coats  and 
caps  and  golden  rings,  with  ruffs  and  scarfs 
and  fans  and  double  change  of  finery  ; ” and 
to  make  her  believe  he  really  intended  to  give 
her  these  gay  things,  he  called  in  a tailor  and 
a haberdasher,  who  brought  some  new  clothes 
he  had  ordered  for  her,  and  then  giving  her 
plate  to  the  servant  to  take  away,  before  she 
had  half  satisfied  her  hunger,  he  said,  “ What, 
have  you  dined  ? ” The  haberdasher  present- 
ed a cap,  saying,  “ Here  is  the  cap  your  wor- 


72 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


ship  bespoke  ; ” on  which  Petruchio  began  to 
storm  afresh,  saying,  the  cap  was  molded  in 
a porringer,  and  that  it  was  no  bigger  than  a 
cockle  or  walnut  shell,  desiring  the  haber- 
dasher to  take  it  away  and  make  a bigger. 
Katherine  said,  “ I will  have  this  ; all  gentle- 
women wear  such  caps  as  these. ” “ When 

you  are  gentle,”  replied  Petruchio,  “ you  shall 
have  one  too,  and  not  till  then.”  The  meat 
Katherine  had  eaten  had  a little  revived  her 
fallen  spirits,  and  she  said,  “ Why,  sir,  I trust  I 
may  have  leave  to  speak,  and  speak  I will  : I 
am  no  child,  no  babe ; your  betters  have  en- 
dured to  hear  me  say  my  mind ; and  if  you 
cannot,  you  had  better  stop  your  ears.”  Pe- 
truchio would  not  hear  these  angry  words,  for 
he  had  happily  discovered  a better  way  of  man- 
aging his  wife  than  keeping  up  a jangling 
argument  with  her ; therefore  his  answer  was, 
“ Why,  you  say  true,  it  is  a paltry  cap,  and  I 
love  you  for  not  liking  it.”  “ Love  me,  or  love 
me  not,”  said  Katherine,  “ I like  the  cap,  and 
I will  have  this  cap,  or  none.”  “You  say  you 
wish  to  see  the  gown,”  said  Petruchio,  still 
affecting  to  misunderstand  her.  The  tailor 
then  came  forward  and  showed  her  a fine  gown 
he  had  made  for  her.  Petruchio,  whose  intent 
was  that  she  should  have  neither  cap  nor  gown, 
found  as  much  fault  with  that.  “ O mercy, 
Heaven ! ” said  he,  “ what  stuff  is  here  ! 
What,  do  you  call  this  a sleeve  ? it  is  like  a 
demi-cannon,  carved  up  and  down  like  an 
apple-tart.”  The  tailor  said,  “ You  bid  me 


THE  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  73 


make  it  according  to  the  fashion  of  the  times  ; ” 
and  Katherine  said,  she  never  saw  a better 
fashioned  gown.  This  was  enough  for  Petru- 
chio,  and  privately  desiring  these  people  might 
be  paid  for  their  goods,  had  excuses  made  to 
them  for  the  seemingly  strange  treatment  he 
bestowed  upon  them,  he  with  fierce  words  and 
furious  gestures  drove  the  tailor  and  the 
haberdasher  out  of  the  room  : and  then,  turn- 
ing to  Katherine,  he  said,  “ Well,  come,  my 
Kate,  we  will  go  to  your  father’s  even  in  these 
mean  garments  we  now  wear.”  And  then  he 
ordered  his  horses,  affirming  they  should 
reach  Baptista’s  house  by  dinner-time,  for 
that  it  was  but  seven  o’clock.  Now  it 
was  not  early  morning,  but  the  very  middle 
of  the  day,  when  he  spoke  this ; therefore 
Katherine  ventured  to  say,  though  modestly, 
being  almost  overcome  by  the  vehemence  of 
his  manner,  “ I dare  assure  you,  sir,  it  is  two 
o’clock,  and  will  be  supper-time  before  we  get 
there.”  But  Petruchio  meant  that  she  should 
be  so  completely  subdued,  that  she  should 
assent  to  everything  he  said,  before  he  carried 
her  to  her  father  ; and  therefore,  as  if  he  were 
lord  even  of  the  sun,  and  could  command  the 
hours,  he  said  it  should  be  what  time  he 
pleased  to  have  it,  before  he  set  forward : 
“ For,”  said  he,  “ whatever  I say  or  do,  you 
still  are  crossing  it.  I will  not  go  to-day,  and 
when  I go,  it  shall  be  what  o’clock  I say  it  is.” 
Another  day  Katherine  was  forced  to  practice 
her  newly-found  obedience,  and  not  till  he  had 


74  TALES  FROM  SH A KSPEA RE, 

brought  her  proud  spirit  to  such  a perfect 
subjection  that  she  dared  not  remember  there 
was  such  a word  as  contradiction,  would 
Petruchio  allow  her  to  go  to  her  father’s 
house  ; and  even  while  they  were  upon  their 
journey  thither,  she  was  in  danger  of  being 
turned  back  again,  only  because  she  happened 
to  hint  it  was  the  sun,  when  he  affirmed  the 
moon  shone  brightly  at  noonday.  “ Now,  by 
my  mother’s  son,”  said  he,  “ and  that  is  myself, 
it  shall  be  the  moon,  or  stars,  or- what  I list, 
before  I journey  to  your  father’s  house.”  He 
then  made  as  if  he  were  going  back  again  ; 
but  Katherine,  no  longer  Katherine  the  Shrew, 
but  the  obedient  wife,  said,  “ Let  us  go  foward, 
I pray,  now  we  have  come  so  far,  and  it  shall 
be  the  sun,  or  moon,  or  what  you  please  : and 
if  you  please  to  call  it  a rush  candle  hence- 
forth, I vow  it  shall  be  so  for  me.”  This  he 
was  resolved  to  prove,  therefore  he  said  again, 
“ I say  it  is  the  moon.”  “ I know  it  is  the 
moon,”  replied  Katherine.  “ You  lie,  it  is  the 
blessed  sun,”  said  Petruchio.  “ Then  it  is  the 
blessed  sun,”  replied  Katherine  ; “ but  sun  it 
is  not,  when  you  say  it  is  not.  What  you  will 
have  it  named  even  so  it  is,  and  so  it  ever  shall 
be  for  Katherine.”  Now  then  he  suffered  her 
to  proceed  on  her  journey ; but  further  to  try 
if  this  yielding  humor  would  last,  he  addressed 
an  old  gentleman  they  met  on  the  road  as  if 
he  had  been  a young  woman,  saying  to  him, 
“ Good  morrow,  gentle  mistress  : ” and  asked 
Katherine  if  she  had  ever  beheld  a fairer 


THE  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  75 

gentlewoman,  praising  the  red  and  white  of  the 
old  man’s  cheeks,  and  comparing  his  eyes  to 
two  bright  stars  ; and  again  he  addressed  him, 
saying,  “ Fair  lovely  maid,  once  more  good 
day  to  you  ! ” and  said  to  his  wife,  “ Sweet 
Kate,  embrace  her  for  her  beauty’s  sake.” 
The  now  completely  vanquished  Katherine 
quickly  adopted  her  husband’s  opinion,  and 
made  her  speech  in  like  sort  to  the  old  gentle- 
man, saying  to  him,  “ Young  budding  virgin, 
you  are  fair,  and  fresh,  and  sweet : whither 
are  you  going,  and  where  is  your  dwelling  ? 
Happy  are  the  parents  of  so  fair  a child.” 
“ Why,  how  now,  Kate,”  said  Petruchio ; “ I 
hope  you  are  not  mad.  This  is  a man,  old 
and  wrinkled,  faded  and  withered,  and  not  a 
maiden,  as  you  say  he  is.”  On  this  Katherine 
said,  “ Pardon  me,  old  gentleman ; the  sun 
has  so  dazzled  my  eyes,  that  everything  I look 
on  seemeth  green.  Now  I perceive  you  are  a 
reverend  father : I hope  you  will  pardon  me 
for  my  sad  mistake.”  “ Do,  good  old  grand- 
sire,”  said  Petruchio,  “ and  tell  us  which  way 
you  are  traveling.  We  shall  be  glad  of  your 
good  company,  if  you  are  going  our  way.” 
The  old  gentleman  replied,  Fair  sir,  and  you 
my  merry  mistress,  your  strange  encounter  has 
much  amazed  me.  My  name  is  Vincentio, 
and  I am  going  to  visit  a son  of  mine  who 
lives  at  Padua.”  Then  Petruchio  knew  the 
old  gentleman  to  be  the  father  of  Lucentio,  a 
young  gentleman  who  was  to  be  married  to  Bap- 
tista’s  younger  daughter,  Bianca,  and  he  made 


76  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 

Vincentio  very  happy,  by  telling  him  the  rich 
marriage  his  son  was  about  to  make  ; and  they 
all  journeyed  on  pleasantly  together  till  they 
came  to  Baptista’s  house,  where  there  was 
a large  company  assembled  to  celebrate  the 
wedding  of  Bianca  and  Lucentio,  Baptista 
having  willingly  consented  to  the  marriage  of 
Bianca  when  he  had  got  Katherine  off  his 
hands. 

When  they  entered,  Baptista  welcomed  them 
to  the  wedding  feast,  and  there  was  present 
also  another  newly  married  pair. 

Lucentio,  Bianca’s  husband,  and  Hortensio, 
the  other  new  married  man,  could  not  forbear 
sly  jests,  which  seemed  to  hint  at  the  shrewish 
disposition  of  Petruchio’s  wife,  and  these  fond 
bridegrooms  seemed  highly  pleased  with  the 
mild  tempers  of  the  ladies  they  had  chosen, 
laughing  at  Petruchio  for  his  less  fortunate 
choice.  Petruchio  took  little  notice  of  their 
jokes  till  the  ladies  were  retired  after  dinner, 
and  then  he  perceived  Baptista  himself  joined 
in  the  laugh  against  him  : for  when  Petruchio 
affirmed  that  his  wife  would  prove  more 
obedient  than  theirs,  the  father  of  Katherine 
said,  “ Now,  in  good  sadness,  son  Petruchio, 
I fear  you  have  got  the  veriest  shrew  of  all.” 
“ Well,”  said  Petruchio,  “ I say  no,  and  there- 
fore for  assurance  that  I speak  the  truth,  let  us 
each  one  send  for  his  wife,  and  he  whose  wife 
is  most  obedient  to  come  at  first  when  she  is 
sent  for,  shall  win  a wager  which  we  will 
propose.”  To  this  the  other  two  husbands 


THE  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  77 

willingly  consented,  for  they  were  quite  confi- 
dent that  their  gentle  wives  would  prove  more 
obedient  than  the  headstrong  Katherine ; and 
they  proposed  a wager  of  twenty  crowns,  but 
Petruchio  merrily  said,  he  would  lay  as  much 
as  that  upon  his  hawk  or  hounds,  but  twenty 
times  as  much  upon  his  wife.  Lucentio  and 
Hortensio  raised  the  wager  to  a hundred 
crowns,  and  Lucentio  first  sent  his  servant  to 
desire  Bianca  would  come  to  him.  But  the 
servant  returned,  and  said,  “ Sir,  my  mistress 
sends  you  word  she  is  busy  and  cannot  come.” 
“ How,”  said  Petruchio,  “ does  she  say  she  is 
busy  and  cannot  come  ? Is  that  an  answer  for 
a wife  ? ” Then  they  laughed  at  him,  and  said 
it  would  be  well  if  Katherine  did  not  send  him 
a worse  answer.  And  now  it  was  Hortensio’s 
turn  to  send  for  his  wife ; and  he  said  to  his 
servant,  “ Go,  and  entreat  my  wife  to  come  to 
me.”  “ Oh  ho  ! entreat  her  ! ” said  Petruchio. 
“ Nay,  then,  she  needs  must  come.”  “ I am 
afraid,  sir,”  said  Hortensio,  “ your  wife  will 
not  be  entreated.”  But  presently  this  civil 
husband  looked  a little  blank,  when  the  servant 
returned  without  his  mistress ; and  he  said 
to  him,  “ How  now ! Where  is  my  wife  ? ” 
“ Sir,”  said  the  servant,  “ my  mistress  says, 
you  have  some  goodly  jest  in  hand,  and  there- 
fore she  will  not  come.  She  bids  you  come 
to  her.”  “Worse  and  worse!”  said  Petru- 
chio ; and  then  he  sent  his  servant,  saying, 
“ Sirrah,  go  to  your  mistress,  and  tell  her  I 
command  her  to  come  to  me.”  The  company 


78  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 

had  scarcely  time  to  think  she  would  not  obey 
this  summons,  when  Baptista,  all  in  amaze 
exclaimed,  “ Now,  by  myhollidam,  here  comes 
Katherine ! ” and  she  entered,  saying  meekly 
to  Petruchio,  “ What  is  your  will,  sir,  that  you 
send  for  me  ? ” “ Where  is  your  sister  and 

Hortensio’s  wife  ? ” said  he.  Katherine 
replied,  “They  sit  conferring  by  the  parlor 
fire.”  “ Go,  fetch  them  hither,”  said  Petru- 
chio. Away  went  Katherine  without  reply  to 
perform  her  husband’s  command.  “ Here  is 
a wonder,”  said  Lucentio,  “ if  you  talk  of  a 
wonder.”  “ And  so  it  is,”  said  Hortensio ; 
“ I marvel  what  it  bodes.”  “ Marry,  peace  it 
bodes,”  said  Petruchio,  “ and  love,  and  quiet 
life,  and  right  supremacy ; and  to  be  short, 
everything  that  is  sweet  and  happy.”  Kath- 
erine’s father,  overjoyed  to  see  this  reformation 
in  his  daughter,  said,  “ Now,  fair  befall  thee,  son 
Petruchio  ! you  have  won  the  wager,  and  I will 
add  another  twenty  thousand  crowns  to  her 
dowry,  as  if  she  were  another  daughter,  for  she 
is  changed  as  if  she  had  never  been.”  “ Nay,” 
said  Petruchio,  “ I will  win  the  wager  better 
yet,  and  show  more  signs  of  her  new-built 
virtue  and  obedience.”  Katherine  now  enter 
ing  with  the  two  ladies,  he  continued,  “ See 
where  she  comes,  and  brings  your  froward 
wives  as  prisoners  to  her  womanly  persuasion. 
Katherine,  that  cap  of  yours  does  not  become 
you ; off  with  that  bauble,  and  throw  it  under 
foot.”  Katherine  instantly  took  off  her  cap 
and  threw  it  down.  “ Lord ! ” $aid  Horten- 


THE  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW.  79 

sio’s  wife,  “ may  I never  have  a cause  to  sigh 
till  I am  brought  to  such  a silly  pass  ! ” And 
Bianca,  she  too  said,  “ Fie,  what  foolish  duty 
call  you  this  ? ” On  this  Bianca’s  husband 
said  to  her,  “ I wish  your  duty  were  as  foolish 
too  ! The  wisdom  of  your  duty,  fair  Bianca, has 
cost  me  a hundred  crowns  since  dinner-time.” 
“ The  more  fool  you,”  said  Bianca,  “ for  laying 
on  my  duty.”  “ Katherine,”  said  Petruchio, 
“ I charge  you  tefl  these  headstrong  women 
what  duty  they  owe  their  lords  and  husbands.” 
And,  to  the  wonder  of  all  present,  the  reformed 
shrewish  lady  spoke  as  eloquently  in  praise 
of  the  wifelike  duty  of  obedience,  as  she  had 
practiced  it  implicitly  in  a ready  submission 
to  Petruchio’s  will.  And  Katherine  once 
more  became  famous  in  Padua,  not  as  hereto- 
fore, as  Katherine  the  Shrew,  but  as  Katherine 
the  most  obedient  and  duteous  wife  in  Padua* 


TWELFTH  NIGHT;  OR,  WHAT  YOU 
WILL. 

Sebastian  and  his  sister  Viola,  a young 
gentleman  and  lady  of  Messaline,  were  twins, 
and  (which  was  accounted  a great  wonder)  from 
their  birth  they  so  much  resembled  each  other, 
that,  but  for  the  difference  in  their  dress,  they 
could  not  be  known  apart.  They  were  both 
born  in  one  hour,  and  in  one  hour  they  were 
both  in  danger  of  perishing,  for  they  were 
shipwrecked  on  the  coast  of  Illyria  as  they 
were  making  a sea-voyage  together.  The  ship, 
on.  board  of  which  they  were,  split  on  a rock 
in  a violent  storm,  and  a very  small  number 
of  the  ship’s  company  escaped  with  their  lives. 
The  captain  of  the  vessel,  with  a few  of  the 
sailors  that  were  saved,  got  to  land  in  a small 
boat,  and  with  them  they  brought  Viola  safe 
on  shore,  where  she,  poor  lady,  instead  of 
rejoicing  at  her  own  deliverance,  began  to 
lament  her  brother’s  loss  ; but  the  captain 
comforted  her  with  the  assurance  that  he  had 
seen  her  brother,  when  the  ship  split,  fasten 
himself  to  a strong  mast,  on  which,  as  long  as 
he  could  see  anything  of  him  for  the  distance, 
he  perceived  him  borne  up  above  the  waves. 
Viola  was  much  consoled  by  the  hope  this 


TWELFTH  NIGHT. 


Si 


‘account  gave  her,  and  now  considered  how 
she  was  to  dispose  of  herself  in  a strange 
country,  so  far  from  home  ; and  she  asked 
the  captain  if  he  knew  anything  of  Illyria. 
“ Ay,  very  well,  madam,”  replied  the  captain, 
“ for  I was  bom  not  three  hours’  travel  from  this 
place.”  “ Who  governs  here  ? ” said  Viola. 
The  captain  told  her,  Illyria  was  governed  by 
Orsino,  a duke  noble  in  nature  as  well  as 
dignity.  Viola  said,  she  had  heard  her  father 
speak  of  Orsino,  and  that  he  was  unmarried 
then.  “ And  he  is  so  now,”  said  the  captain  ; 
“or  was  so  very  lately,  for  but  a month  ago  I 
went  from  here,  and  then  it  was  the  general 
talk  (as  you  know  what  great  ones  do  the 
people  will  prattle  of)  that  Orsino  sought  the 
love  of  fair  Olivia,  a virtuous  maid,  the  daughter 
of  a count  who  died  twelve  months  ago,  leav- 
ing Olivia  to  the  protection  of  her  brother, 
who  shortly  after  died  also  ; and  for  the  love 
of  this  dear  brother,  they  say,  she  has  abjured 
the  sight  and  company  of  men.”  Viola,  who 
was  herself  in  such  a sad  affliction  for  her 
brother’s  loss,  wished  she  could  live  with  this 
lady,  who  so  tenderly  mourned  a brother’s 
death.  She  asked  the  captain  if  he  could 
introduce  her  to  Olivia,  saying  she  would  will- 
ingly serve  this  lady.  But  he  replied,  this 
would  be  a hard  thing  to  accomplish,  because 
the  lady  Olivia  would  admit  no  person  into  her 
house  since  her  brother’s  death,  not  even  the 
duke  himself.  Then  Viola  formed  another 
project  in  her  mind,  which  was,  in  a man’s 
6 


8 2 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


habit  to  serve  the  duke  Orsino  as  a page.  It 
was  a strange  fancy  in  a young  lady  to  put  on 
male  attire,  and  pass  for  a boy  ; but  the  for- 
lorn and  unprotected  state  of  Viola,  who  was 
young  and  of  uncommon  beauty,  alone,  and  in 
a foreign  land,  must  plead  her  excuse. 

She  having  observed  a fair  behavior  in  the 
captain,  and  that  he  showed  a friendly  con- 
cern for  her  welfare,  entrusted  him  with  her 
design,  and  he  readily  engaged  to  assist  her. 
Viola  gave  him  money,  and  directed  him  to 
furnish  her  with  suitable  apparel,  ordering  her 
clothes  to  be  made  of  the  same  color  and  in 
the  same  fashion  her  brother  Sebastian  used 
to  wear ; and  when  she  was  dressed  in  her 
manly  garb,  she  looked  so  exactly  like  her 
brother,  that  some  strange  errors  happened  by 
means  of  their  being  mistaken  for  each  other ; 
for,  as  will  afterwards  appear,  Sebastian  was 
also  saved. 

Viola’s  good  friend,  the  captain,  when  he 
had  transformed  this  pretty  lady  into  a gentle- 
man, having  some  interest  at  court,  got  her 
presented  to  Orsino  undar  the  feigned  name 
of  Cesario.  The  duke  was  wonderfully  pleased 
with  the  address  and  graceful  deportment  of 
this  handsome  youth,  and  made  Cesario  one 
of  his  pages,  that  being  the  office  Viola  wished 
to  obtain : and  she  so  well  fulfilled  the  duties 
of  her  new  station,  and  showed  such  a ready 
observance  and  faithful  attachment  to  her 
lord,  that  she  soon  became  his  most  favored 
attendant.  To  Cesario  Orsino  confided  the 


TWELFTH  NIGHT 


83 


whole  history  of  his  love  for  the  lady  Olivia. 
To  Cesario  he  told  the  long  and  unsuccessful 
suit  he  had  made  to  one  who,  rejecting  his 
long  services,  and  despising  his  person,  refused 
to  admit  him  to  her  presence  : and  for  the 
love  of  this  lady  who  had  so  unkindly  treated 
him,  the  noble  Orsino,  forsaking  the  sports  of 
the  field  and  all  manly  exercises  in  which  he 
used  to  delight,  passed  his  hours  in  ignoble 
sloth,  listening  to  the  effeminate  sounds  of 
soft  music,  gentle  airs,  and  passionate  love- 
songs  ; and  neglecting  the  company  of  the 
wise  and  learned  lords  with  whom  he  used  to 
associate,  he  was  now  all  day  long  conversing 
with  young  Cesario.  Unmeet  companion,  no 
doubt,  his  grave  courtiers  thought  Cesario  was 
for  their  once  noble  master,  the  great  duke 
Orsino. 

It  is  a dangerous  matter  for  young  maidens 
to  be  the  confidants  of  handsome  young  dukes  : 
which  Viola  too  soon  found  to  her  sorrow,  for 
all  that  Orsino  told  her  he  endured  for  Olivia, 
she  presently  perceived  she  suffered  for  the 
love  of  him : and  much  it  moved  her  wonder, 
that  Olivia  could  be  so  regardless  of  this  her 
peerless  lord  and  master,  whom  she  thought 
no  one  should  behold  without  the  deepest 
admiration,  and  she  ventured  gently  to  hint 
to  Orsino,  that  it  was  pity  he  should  affect  a 
lady  who  was  so  blind  to  his  worthy  qualities  ; 
and  she  said,  “ If  a lady  were  to  love  you,  my 
lord,  as  you  love  Olivia  (and  perhaps  there 
may  be  one  who  does),  if  you  could  not  love 


84  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 

her  in  return,  would  you  not  tell  her  that  you 
could  not  love,  and  must  not  she  be  content 
with  this  answer  ? ” But  Orsino  would  not 
admit  of  this  reasoning,  for  he  denied  that  it 
was  possible  for  any  woman  to  love  as  he  did. 
He  said,  no  woman’s  heart  was  big  enough  to 
hold  so  much  love,  and  therefore  it  was  unfair 
to  compare  the  love  of  any  lady  for  him  to  his 
love  for  Olivia.  Now,  though  Viola  had  the 
utmost  deference  for  the  duke’s  opinions,  she 
could  not  help  thinking  this  was  not  quite 
true,  for  she  thought  her  heart  had  full  as 
much  love  in  it  as  Orsino’shad  ; and  she  said, 

“ Ah,  but  I know,  my  lord.” “ What  do 

you  know,  Cesario  ? ” said  Orsino.  u Too  well 
I know,”  replied  Viola,  “ what  love  women 
may  owe  to  men.  They  are  as  true  of  heart 
as  we  are.  My  father  had  a daughter  loved  a 
man,  as  I perhaps,  were  I a woman,  should 
love  your  lordship.”  “And  what  is  her  his- 
tory?” said  Orsino.  “A  blank,  my  lord,” 
replied  Viola : “ she  never  told  her  love,  but 
let  concealment,  like  a worm  in  the  bud,  prey 
on  her  damask  cheek.  She  pined  in  thought, 
and  with  a green  and  yellow  melancholy,  she 
sat  like  Patience  on  a monument,  smiling  at 
grief.”  The  duke  inquired  if  this  lady  died  of 
her  love,  but  to  this  question  Viola  returned 
an  evasive  answer  ; as  probably  she  had  feigned 
the  story,  to  speak  words  expressive  of  the 
secret  love  and  silent  grief  she  suffered  for 
Orsino. 

While  they  were  talking,  a gentleman  en- 


TWELFTH  NIGHT. 


Sc 

tered  whom  the  duke  had  sent  to  Olivia,  and 
he  said,  “ So  please  you,  my  lord,  I might  not 
be  admitted  to  the  lady,  but  by  her  handmaid 
she  returned  you  this  answer : Until  seven 
years  hence,  the  element  itself  shall  not  behold 
her  face ; but  like  a cloistress  she  will  walk 
veiled,  watering  her  chamber  with  her  tears 
for  the  sad  remembrance  of  her  dead  brother.” 
On  hearing  this,  the  duke  exclaimed,  “ O she 
that  has  a heart  of  this  fine  frame,  to  pay  this 
debt  of  love  to  a dead  brother,  how  will  she 
love  when  the  rich  golden  shaft  has  touched 
her  heart ! ” And  then  he  said  to  Viola, 
“ You  know,  Cesario,  I have  told  you  all  the 
secrets  of  my  heart ; therefore,  good  youth, 
go  to  Olivia’s  house.  Be  not  denied  access  ! 
stand  at  the  doors,  and  tell  her  there  your 
fixed  foot  shall  grow  till  you  have  audience.’’ 
“ And  if  I do  speak  to  her,  my  lord,  what 
then  ? ” said  Viola.  “ Oh  then,”  replied 
Orsino,  “ unfold  to  her  the  passion  of  my  love. 
Make  a long  discourse  to  her  of  my  dear  faith. 
It  will  well  become  you  to  act  my  woes,  for 
she  will  attend  more  to  you  than  to  one  of 
graver  aspect.” 

Away  then  went  Viola  ; but  not  willingly 
did  she  undertake  this  courtship,  for  she  was 
to  woo  a lady  to  become  a wife  to  him  she 
wished  to  marry  : but  having  undertaken  the 
affair,  she  performed  it  with  fidelity;  and 
Olivia  soon  heard  that  a youth  was  at  her  door 
who  insisted  upon  being  admitted  to  her 
presence.  “ I told  him,”  said  the  servant, 


io 


TALES  FROM  SHA KSPE ARE. 


“ that  you  were  sick  : he  said  he  knew  you 
were,  and  therefore  he  came  to  speak  with 
you.  I told  him  that  you  were  asleep  : he 
seemed  to  have  a foreknowledge  of  that  too, 
and  said,  that  therefore  he  must  speak  with 
you.  What  is  to  be  said  to  him,  lady  ? for  he 
seems  fortified  against  all  denial,  and  will 
speak  with  you,  whether  you  will  or  no.” 
Olivia,  curious  to  see  who  this  peremptory 
messenger  might  be,  desired  he  might  be 
admitted ; and  throwing  her  veil  over  her 
face  she  said  she  would  once  more  hear 
Orsino’s  embassy,  not  doubting  but  that  he 
came  from  the  duke,  by  his  importunity.  Viola 
entering,  put  on  the  most  manly  air  she  could 
assume,  and  affecting  the  fine  courtier’s  lan- 
guage of  great  men’s  pages,  she  said  to  the 
veiled  lady,  “ Most  radiant,  exquisite,  and 
matchless  beauty,  I pray  you  tell  me  if  you 
are  the  lady  of  the  house  : for  I should  be 
sorry  to  cast  away  my  speach  upon  another ; 
for  besides  that  it  is  excellently  well  penned, 
I have  taken  great  pains  to  learn  it.”  “ Whence 
come  you,  sir  ? ” said  Olivia.  “ I can  say 
little  more  than  I have  studied,”  replied 
Viola  ; “ and  that  question  is  out  of  my  part.” 
“ Are  you  a comedian  ? ” said  Olivia.  “ No,” 
replied  Viola  ; “ and  yet  I am  not  that  which 
I play  ; ” meaning,  that  she  being  a woman, 
feigned  herself  to  be  a man.  And  again  she 
asked  Olivia  if  she  were  the  lady  of  the 
house.  Olivia  said  she  was  ; and  then  Viola, 
having  more  curiosity  to  see  her  rival’s  fea* 


TWELFTH  NIGHT 


87 

tures  than  haste  to  deliver  her  master’s  mes- 
sage, said,  “Good  madam,  let  me  see  your 
face.”  With  this  bold  request  Olivia  was  not 
averse  to  comply : for  this  haughty  beauty, 
whom  the  duke  Orsino  had  loved  so  long  in 
vain,  at  first  sight  conceived  a passion  for  the 
supposed  page,  the  humble  Cesario. 

When  Viola  asked  to  see  her  face,  Olivia 
said,  “ Have  you  any  commission  from  your 
lord  and  master  to  negotiate  with  my  face  ? ” 
And  then,  forgetting  her  determination  to  go 
veiled  for  seven  long  years,  she  drew  aside 
her  veil,  saying,  “ But  I will  draw  the  curtain 
and  show  the  picture.  Is  it  not  well  done?  ” 
Viola  replied,  “ It  is  beauty  truly  mixed  ; the 
red  and  white  upon  your  cheeks  is  by  Nature’s 
own  cunning  hand  laid  on.  You  are  the  most 
cruel  lady  living,  if  you  will  lead  these  graces 
to  the  grave,  and  leave  the  world  no  copy.” 
“ (3,  sir,”  replied  Olivia,  “ I will  not  be  so 
cruel.  The  world  may  have  an  inventory  of 
my  beauty.  As,  item,  two  lips,  indifferent 
red ; item,  two  gray  eyes,  with  lids  to  them ; 
one  neck ; one  chin,  and  so  forth.  Were  you 
sent  here  to  praise  me  ? ” Viola  replied,  “ I 
see  what  you  are  : you  are  too  proud,  but  you 
are  fair.  My  lord  and  master  loves  you.  O 
such  a love  could  but  be  recompensed,  though 
you  were  crowned  the  queen  of  beauty  : for 
Orsino  loves  you  with  adoration  and  with 
tears,  with  groans  that  thunder  love,  and  sighs 
of  fire.”  “ Your  lord,”  said  Olivia,  “ knows 
well  my  mind.  I cannot  love  him ; yet  I 


88 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


doubt  not  he  is  virtuous  ; I know  him  to  be 
noble  and  of  high  estate,  of  fresh  and  spotless 
youth.  All  voices  proclaim  him  learned,  cour- 
teous, and  valiant ; yet  I cannot  love  him,  he 
might  have  taken  his  answer  long  ago.”  “ If 
I did  love  you  as  my  master  does,”  said  Viola, 
“ I would  make  me  a willow  cabin  at  your 
gates,  and  call  upon  your  name.  I would 
write  complaining  sonnets  on  Olivia,  and  sing 
them  in  the  dead  of  the  night  : your  name 
should  sound  among  the  hills,  and  1 would 
make  Echo,  the  babbling  gossip  of  the  air,  cry 
out  Olivia . O you  should  not  rest  between 
the  elements  of  earth  and  air,  but  you  should 
pity  me.”  “ You  might  do  much,”  said  Olivia  ; 
“ what  is  your  parentage  ? ” Viola  replied, 
u Above  my  fortunes,  yet  my  state  is  well. 
I am  a gentleman.”  Olivia  now  reluctantly 
dismissed  Viola,  saying,  “ Go  to  your  master, 
and  tell  him  I cannot  love  him.  Let  him  send 
no  more,  unless  perchance  you  come  again  to 
tell  me  how  he  takes  it.”  And  Viola  departed, 
bidding  the  lady  farewell  by  the  name  of 
Fair  Cruelty.  When  she  was  gone,  Olivia 
repeated  the  words,  “ Above  my  fortune, yet  my 
state  is  well.  Iam  a gentleman . ” And  she  said 
aloud,  “ I will  be  sworn  he  is  ; his  tongue,  his 
face,  his  limbs,  action,  and  spirit,  plainly  show 
he  is  a gentleman.”  And  then  she  wished 
Cesario  was  the  duke ; and  perceiving  the 
fast  hold  he  had  taken  on  her  affections,  she 
blamed  herself  for  her  sudden  love  ; but  the 
gentle  blame  which  people  lay  upon  their  own 


TWELFTH  NIGHT 


89 


faults  has  no  deep  root : and  presently  the 
noble  lady  Olivia  so  far  forgot  the  inequality 
between  her  fortunes  and  those  of  this  seem- 
ing  page,  as  well  as  the  maidenly  reserve 
which  is  the  chief  ornament  of  a lady’s  char- 
acter, that  she  resolved  to  court  the  love  of 
young  Cesario,  and  sent  a servant  after  him 
with  a diamond  ring,  under  the  pretense  that 
he  had  left  it  with  her  as  a present  from  Orsino. 
She  hoped,  by  thus  artfully  making  Cesario  a 
present  of  the  ring,  she  should  give  him  some 
intimation  of  her  design ; and  truly  it  did 
make  Viola  suspect ; for  knowing  that  Orsino 
had  sent  no  ring  by  her,  she  began  to  recollect 
that  Olivia’s  looks  and  manner  were  expres- 
sive of  admiration,  and  she  presently  guessed 
her  master’s  mistress  had  fallen  in  love  with 
her.  “ Alas,”  said  she,  “ the  poor  lady  might 
as  well  love  a dream.  Disguise  I see  is 
wicked,  for  it  has  caused  Olivia  to  breathe  as 
fruitless  sighs  for  me  as  I do  for  Orsino.” 
Viola  returned  to  Orsino’s  palace,  and  re- 
lated to  her  lord  the  ill  success  of  the  negotia- 
tion, repeating  the  command  of  Olivia,  that 
the  duke  should  trouble  her  no  more.  Yet 
still  the  duke  persisted  in  hoping  that  the 
gentle  Cesario  would  in  time  be  able  to  per- 
suade her  to  show  some  pity,  and  therefore 
he  bade  him  he  should  go  to  her  again  the 
next  day.  In  the  meantime,  to  pass  away 
the  tedious  intervals,  he  commanded  a song 
which  he  loved  to  be  sung  ; and  he  said,  “ My 
good  Cesario,  when  I heard  that  song  last 


90 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


night,  methought  it  did  relieve  my  passion 
much.  Mark  it,  Cesario,  it  is  old  and  plain. 
The  spinsters  and  the  knitters  when  they  sit 
in  the  sun,  and  the  young  maids  that  weave 
their  thread  with  bone,  chant  this  song.  It  is 
silly,  yet  I love  it,  for  it  tells  of  the  innocence 
of  love  in  the  old  times.” 

SONG. 

Come  away,  come  away,  Death, 

And  in  sad  cypress  let  me  be  laid ; 

Fly  away,  fly  away,  breath, 

I am  slain  by  a fair  cruel  maid, 

My  shroud  of  white  stuck  all  with  yew,  O prepare  it, 
My  part  of  death  no  one  so  true  did  share  it, 

Not  a flower,  not  a flower  sweet, 

On  my  black  coffin  let  there  be  strown : 

Not  a friend,  not  a friend  greet 

My  poor  corpse,  where  my  bones  shall  be 
thrown, 

A thousand  thousand  sighs  to  save,  lay  me  O where 
Sad  true  lover  never  find  my  grave,  to  weep  there. 

Viola  did  not  fail  to  mark  the  words  of  the 
old  song,  which  in  such  true  simplicity  de- 
scribed the  pangs  of  unrequited  love,  and  she 
bore  testimony  in  her  countenance  of  feeling 
what  the  song  expressed.  Her  sad  looks  were 
observed  by  Orsino,  who  said  to  her,  “ My 
life  upon  it,  Cesario,  though  you  are  so  young 
your  eye  has  looked  upon  some  face  that  it 
loves  ; has  it  not,  boy  ? ” “A  little,  with  your 
leave,”  replied  Viola.  “ And  what  kind  of 
woman,  and  of  what  age  is  she  ?”  said  Orsino. 
“ Of  your  age,  and  of  your  complexion,  my 


TWELFTH  NIGHT 


9l 

lord/’  said  Viola;  which  made  the  duke  smile 
to  hear  this  fair  young  boy  loved  a woman  so 
much  older  than  himself,  and  of  a man’s  dark 
complexion  ; but  Viola  secretly  meant  Orsino, 
and  not  a woman  like  him. 

When  Viola  made  her  second  visit  to  Olivia, 
she  found  no  difficulty  in  gaining  access  to  her. 
Servants  soon  discover  when  their  ladies 
delight  to  converse  with  handsome  young  mes- 
sengers ; and  the  instant  Viola  arrived,  the 
gates  were  thrown  wide  open,  and  the  duke’s 
page  was  shown  into  Olivia’s  apartment  with 
great  respect ; and  when  Viola  told  Olivia  that 
she  was  come  once  more  to  plead  in  her  lord’s 
behalf,  this  lady  said,  “ I desire  you  never  to 
speak  of  him  again  ; but  if  you  would  under- 
take another  suit,  I had  rather  hear  you  solicit 
than  music  from  the  spheres.”  This  was 
pretty  plain  speaking,  but  Olivia  soon  explained 
herself  still  more  plainly,  and  openly  confessed 
her  love  ; and  when  she  saw  displeasure  with 
perplexity  expressed  in  Viola’s  face,  she  said, 
“ O what  a deal  of  scorn  looks  beautiful  in  the 
contempt  and  anger  of  his  lip  ! Cesario,  by 
the  roses  of  the  spring,  by  maidhood,  honor, 
arid  by  truth,  I love  you  so,  that,  in  spite  of 
your  pride,  I have  neither  wit  nor  reason  to 
conceal  my  passion.”  But  in  vain  the  lady 
wooed ; Viola  hastened  from  her  presence, 
threatening  never  more  to  come  to  plead 
Orsino’s  love  ; and  all  the  reply  she  made  to 
Olivia’s  fond  solicitations  was  a declaration  of 
a resolution  Never  to  love  any  woman . 


92 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


No  sooner  had  Viola  left  the  lady  than  a 
claim  was  made  upon  her  valor.  A gentleman, 
a rejected  suitor  of  Olivia,  who  had  learned 
how  that  lady  had  favored  the  duke’s  mes- 
senger, challenged  him  to  fight  a duel.  What 
should  poor  Viola  do,  who,  though  she  carried 
a manlike  outside,  had  a true  woman’s  heart, 
and  feared  to  look  on  her  own  sword  ! 

When  she  saw  her  formidable  rival  advanc- 
ing towards  her  with  his  sword  drawn,  she 
began  to  think  of  confessing  that  she  was  a 
woman  ; but  she  was  relieved  at  once  from  her 
terror,  and  the  shame  of  such  a discovery,  by 
a stranger  that  was  passing  by,  who  made  up 
to  them,  and  as  if  he  had  been  long  known  to 
her,  and  were  her  dearest  friend,  said  to  her 
opponent,  “ If  this  young  gentleman  has  done 
offense,  I will  take  the  fault  on  me  ; and  if 
you  offend  him,  I will  for  his  sake  defy  you.” 
Before  Viola  had  time  to  thank  him  for  his 
protection,  or  to  inquire  the  reason  of  his  kind 
interference,  her  new  friend  met  with  an  enemy 
where  his  bravery  was  of  no  use  to  him  ; for 
the  officers  of  justice  coming  up  in  that  instant, 
apprehended  the  stranger  in  the  duke’s  name 
to  answer  for  an  offense  he  had  committed 
some  years  before ; and  he  said  to  Viola, 
“ This  comes  with  seeking  you  ; ” and  then  he 
asked  her  for  a purse,  saying,  Now  my  neces- 
sity makes  me  ask  for  my  purse,  and  it  grieves 
me  much  more  for  what  I cannot  do  for  you, 
than  for  what  befalls  myself.  You  stand 
amazed,  but  be  of  comfort.”  His  words  did 


TWELFTH  NIGHT 


93 


indeed  amaze  Viola,  and  she  protested  she 
knew  him  not,  nor  had  ever  received  a purse 
from  him  ; but  for  the  kindness  he  had  just 
shown  her,  she  offered  him  a small  sum  of 
money,  being  nearly  the  whole  she  possessed. 
And  now  the  stranger  spoke  severe  things, 
charging  her  with  ingratitude  and  unkindness. 
He  said,  “ This  youth  whom  you  see  here,  I 
snatched  from  the  jaws  of  death,  and  for  his 
sake  alone  I came  to  Illyria,  and  have  fallen 
into  this  danger.”  But  the  officers  cared  little 
for  hearkening  to  the  complaints  of  their 
prisoner  and  they  hurried  him  off,  saying, 
“ What  is  that  to  us  ? ” And  as  he  was  carried 
away,  he  called  Viola  by  the  name  of  Sebastian, 
reproaching  the  supposed  Sebastian  for  dis- 
owning his  friend  as  long  as  he  was  within 
hearing.  When  Viola  heard  herself  called 
Sebastian,  though  the  stranger  was  taken  away 
too  hastily  for  her  to  ask  an  explanation,  she 
conjectured  that  this  seeming  mystery  might 
arise  from  her  being  mistaken  for  her  brother : 
and  she  began  to  cherish  hopes  that  it  was  her 
brother  whose  life  this  man  said  he  had  pre- 
served. And  so  indeed  it  was.  The  stranger 
whose  name  was  Anthonio,  was  a sea-captain. 
He  had  taken  Sebastian  up  into  his  ship,  when, 
almost  exhausted  with  fatigue,  he  was  floating 
on  the  mast  to  which  he  had  fastened  himself 
in  the  storm.  Anthonio  conceived  such  a 
friendship  for  Sebastian,  that  he  resolved  to 
accompany  him  whithersoever  he  went ; and 
when  the  youth  expressed  a curiosity  to  visit 


94 


TALES  FROM  SI/A  KS PE  A RE. 


Orsino’s  court,  Anthonio,  rather  than  part  from 
him,  came  to  Illyria,  though  he  knew,  if  his 
person  should  be  known  there,  his  life  would 
be  in  danger,  because  in  a sea-fight  he  had 
once  dangerously  wounded  the  duke  Orsino’s 
nephew.  This  was  the  offense  for  which  he 
was  now  made  a prisoner. 

Anthonio  and  Sebastian  had  landed  together 
but  a few  hours  before  Anthonio  met  Viola. 
He  had  given  his  purse  to  Sebastian,  desiring 
him  to  use  it  freely  if  he  saw  anything  he 
wished  to  purchase,  telling  him  he  would  wait 
at  the  inn,  while  Sebastian  went  to  view  the 
town  ; but  Sebastian  not  returning  at  the  time 
appointed,  Anthonio  had  ventured  out  to  look 
for  him,  and  Viola  being  dressed  the  same, 
and  in  face  so  exactly  resembling  her  brother, 
Anthonio  drew  his  sword  (as  he  thought)  in 
defense  of  the  youth  he  had  saved,  and  when 
Sebastian  (as  he  supposed)  disowned  him,  and 
denied  him  his  own  purse,  no  wonder  he  ac- 
cused him  of  ingratitude. 

Viola,  when  Anthonio  was  gone,  fearing  a 
second  invitation  to  fight,  slunk  home  as  fast 
as  she  could.  She  had  not  long  gone,  when  her 
adversary  thought  he  saw  her  return  ; but  it 
was  her  brother  Sebastian  who  happened  to 
arrive  at  this  place,  and  he  said,  “ Now,  sir, 
have  I met  you  again  ? There’s  for  you  ; ” 
and  struck  him  a blow.  Sebastian  was  no 
coward  ; he  returned  the  blow  with  interest, 
and  drew  his  sword. 

A lady  now  put  a stop  to  this  duel,  for 


TWELFTH  NIGHT 


95 


Olivia  came  out  of  the  house,  and  she  too 
mistaking  Sebastian  for  Cesario,  invited  him 
to  come  into  her  house,  expressing  much 
sorrow  at  the  rude  attack  he  had  met  with. 
Though  Sebastian  was  as  much  surprised  at 
the  courtesy  of  this  lady  as  at  the  rudeness  of 
his  unknown  foe,  yet  he  went  very  willingly 
into  the  house,  and  Olivia  was  delighted  to 
find  Cesario  (as  she  thought  him)  become 
more  sensible  of  her  attentions ; for  though 
their  features  were  exactly  the  same,  there 
was  none  of  the  contempt  and  anger  to  be  seen 
in  his  face  which  she  had  complained  of  when 
she  told  her  love  to  Cesario. 

Sebastian  did  not  at  all  object  to  the  fond- 
ness the  lady  lavished  on  him.  He  seemed  to 
take  it  in  very  good  part,  yet  he  wondered  how 
it  had  come  to  pass,  and  he  was  rather  inclined 
to  think  Olivia  was  not  in  her  right  senses ; 
but  perceiving  that  she  was  mistress  of  a fine 
house,  and  that  she  ordered  her  affairs  and 
seemed  to  govern  her  family  discreetly,  and  that 
in  all  but  her  sudden  love  for  him  she  appeared 
in  the  full  possession  of  her  reason,  he  well 
approved  of  the  courtship ; and  Olivia  finding 
Cesario  in  this  good  humor  and  fearing  he 
might  change  his  mind,  proposed  that,  as  she 
had  a priest  in  the  house,  they  should  be  in- 
stantly married.  Sebastian  assented  to  this 
proposal ; and  when  the  marriage  ceremony 
was  over  he  left  his  lady  for  a short  time,  in- 
tending to  go  and  tell  his  friend  Anthonio  the 
good  fortune  that  he  had  met  with.  In  the 


9 6 TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 

meantime  Orsino  came  to  visit  Olivia,  and  at  the 
moment  he  arrived  before  Olivia’s  house  the 
officers  of  justice  brought  their  prisoner, 
Anthonio,  before  the  duke.  Viola  was  with 
Orsino,  her  master ; and  when  Anthonio  saw 
Viola,  whom  he  still  imagined  to  be  Sebastian, 
he  told  the  duke  in  what  manner  he  had 
rescued  this  youth  from  the  perils  of  the  sea  ; 
and  after  fully  relating  all  the  kindness  he  had 
really  shown  to  Sebastian,  he  ended  his  com- 
plaint  with  saying,  that  for  three  months,  both 
day  and  night,  this  ungrateful  youth  had  been 
with  him.  But  now  the  lady  Olivia  coming 
forth  from  her  house,  the  duke  could  no 
longer  attend  to  Anthonio’s  story  ; and  he 
said,  “ Here  comes  the  countess  : now  Heaven 
walks  on  earth  ! but  for  thee,  fellow,  thy  words 
are  madness.  Three  months  has  this  youth 
attended  on  me  : and  then  he  ordered 

Anthonio  to  be  taken  aside.  But  Orsino’s 
heavenly  countess  soon  gave  the  duke  cause 
to  accuse  Cesario  as  much,  of  ingratitude  as 
Anthonio  had  done,  for  all  the  words  he 
could  hear  Olivia  speak  were  words  of  kind- 
ness to  Cesario  : and  when  he  found  his 

page  had  obtained  this  high  place  in  Olivia’s 
favor  he  threatened  him  with  all  the  terrors 
of  his  just  revenge  ; and  as  he  was  going  to 
depart  he  called  Viola  to  follow  him,  saying, 
“ Come,  boy,  with  me.  My  thoughts  are  ripe 
j:or  mischief.”  Though  it  seemed  in  his 
jealous  rage  he  was  going  to  doom  Viola  to 
instant  death,  yet  her  love  made  her  no  longer 


TWELFTH  NIGHT. 


97 


a coward,  and  she  said  she  would  most  joyfully 
suffer  death  to  give  her  master  ease.  But 
Olivia  would  not  so  lose  her  husband,  and  she 
cried,  “ Where  goes  my  Cesario  ? ” Viola 
replied,  “ After  him  I love  more  than  my  lif e.?> 
Olivia,  however,  prevented  their  departure  by 
loudly  proclaiming  that  Cesario  was  her  hus- 
band, and  sent  for  the  priest,  who  declared 
that  not  two  hours  had  passed  since  he  had 
married  the  lady  Olivia  to  this  young  man. 
In  vain  Viola  protested  she  was  not  married 
to  Olivia ; the  evidence  of  that  lady  and  the 
priest  made  Orsino  believe  that  his  page  had 
robbed  him  of  the  treasure  he  prized  above 
his  life.  But  thinking  that  it  was  past  recall, 
he  was  bidding  farewell  to  his  faithless  mistress, 
and  the  young  dissembler , her  husband,  as  he 
called  Viola,  warning  her  never  to  come  in 
his  sight  again,  when  (as  it  seemed  to  them)  a 
miracle  appeared ! for  another  Cesario  en- 
tered, and  addressed  Olivia  as  his  wife.  This 
new  Cesario  was  Sebastian,  the  real  husband 
of  Olivia ; and  when  their  wonder  had  a little 
ceased  at  seeing  two  persons  with  the  same 
face,  the  same  voice,  and  the  same  habit,  the 
brother  and  sister  began  to  question  each 
other,  for  Viola  could  scarce  be  persuaded  that 
her  brother  was  living,  and  Sebastian  knew 
not  how  to  account  for  the  sister  he  supposed 
drowned  being  found  in  the  habit  of  a young 
man.  But  Viola  presently  acknowledged  that 
she  was  indeed  Viola  and  his  sister  under  that 
disguise. 

7 


98  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 

When  all  the  errors  were  cleared  up  which 
the  extreme  likeness  between  this  twin  brother 
and  sister  had  occasioned,  they  laughed  at  the 
lady  Olivia  for  the  pleasant  mistake  she  had 
made  in  falling  in  love  with  a woman ; and 
Olivia  showed  no  dislike  to  her  exchange,  when 
she  found  she  had  wedded  the  brother  instead 
of  the  sister. 

The  hopes  of  Orsino  were  forever  at  an 
end  by  this  marriage  of  Olivia,  and  with  his 
hopes  all  his  fruitless  love  seemed  to  vanish 
away,  and  all  his  thoughts  were  fixed  on  the 
event  of  his  favorite,  young  Cesario,  being 
changed  into  a fair  lady.  He  viewed  Viola 
with  great  attention,  and  he  remembered  how 
very  handsome  he  had  always  thought  Cesario 
was,  and  he  concluded  she  would  look  very 
beautiful  in  a woman’s  attire  ; and  then  he 
remembered  how  often  she  had  said  she  loved 
him , which  at  the  time  seemed  only  the  dutiful 
expressions  of  a faithful  page,  but  now  he 
guessed  that  something  more  was  meant,  for 
many  of  her  pretty  sayings,  which  were  like 
riddles  to  him,  came  now  into  his  mind,  and 
he  no  sooner  remembered  all  these  things  than 
he  resolved  to  make  Viola  his  wife  ; and  he 
said  to  her  (he  still  could  not  help  calling  her 
Cesario  and  hoy),  “ Boy,  you  have  said  to  me  a 
thousand  times  that  you  should  never  love  a 
woman  like  to  me,  and  for  the  faithful  service 
you  have  done  for  me,  so  much  beneath  your 
soft  and  tender  breeding,  and  since  you  have 
called  me  master  so  long  you  shall  now 


TWELFTH  NIGHT  99 

be  your  master’s  mistress,  and  Orsino’s  true 
duchess.” 

Olivia,  perceiving  Orsino  was  making  over 
that  heart,  which  she  had  so  ungraciously 
rejected,  to  Viola,  invited  them  to  enter  her 
house,  and  offered  the  assistance  of  the  good 
priest,  who  had  married  her  to  Sebastian  in 
the  morning,  to  perform  the  same  ceremony  in 
the  remaining  part  of  the  day  for  Orsino  and 
Viola.  Thus  the  twin  brother  and  sister  were 
both  wedded  on  the  same  day ; the  storm  and 
shipwreck  which  had  separated  them  being  the 
means  of  bringing  to  pass  their  high  and  mighty 
fortunes.  Viola  was  the  wife  of  Orsino,  the 
duke  of  Illyria,  and  Sebastian  the  husband  of 
the  rich  and  noble  countess,  the  lady  Olivia. 


PERICLES,  PRINCE  OF  TYRE. 

Pericles,  Prince  of  Tyre,  became  a volun- 
tary exile  from  his  dominions,  to  avert  the 
dreadful  calamities  which  Antiochus,  the 
wicked  emperor  of  Greece,  threatened  to 
bring  upon  his  subjects  and  city  of  Tyre,  in 
revenge  for  a discovery  which  the  prince  had 
made  of  a shocking  deed  which  the  emperor 
had  done  in  secret;  as  commonly  it  proves 
dangerous  to  pry  into  the  hidden  crimes  of 
great  ones.  Leaving  the  government  of  his 
people  in  the  hands  of  his  able  and  honest 
minister,  Hellicanus,  Pericles  set  sail  from 
Tyre,  thinking  to  absent  himself  till  the  wrath 
of  Antiochus,  who  was  mighty,  should  be 
appeased. 

The  first  place  which  the  prince  directed 
his  course  to  was  Tharsus  ; and  hearing  that 
the  city  of  Tharsus  was  at  that  time  suffering 
under  a severe  famine,  he  took  with  him  store 
of  provisions  for  its  relief.  On  his  arrival  he 
found  the  city  reduced  to  the  utmost  distress  ; 
and,  he  coming  like  a messenger  from  heaven 
with  this  unhoped-for  succor,  Cleon,  the  gover- 
nor of  Tharsus,  welcomed  him  with  boundless 
thanks.  Pericles  had  not  been  here  many  days, 
before  letters  came  from  his  faithful  minister, 

IOO 


PERICLES , PRINCE  OF  TYRE. 


i or 


warning  him  that  it  was  not  safe  for  him 
to  stay  at  Tharsus,  for  Antiochus  knew  of  his 
abode,  and  by  secret  emissaries,  despatched 
for  that  purpose,  sought  his  life.  Upon 
receipt  of  these  letters  Pericles  put  out  to  sea 
again,  amidst  the  blessings  and  prayers  of 
a whole  people  who  had  been  fed  by  his 
bounty. 

He  had  not  sailed  far,  when  his  ship  was 
overtaken  by  a dreadful  storm,  and  every  man 
on  board  perished  except  Pericles,  who  was 
cast  by  the  sea- waves  naked  on  an  unknown 
shore,  where  he  had  not  wandered  long  before 
he  met  with  some  poor  fishermen,  who  invited 
him  to  their  homes,  giving  him  clothes  and  pro- 
visions. The  fishermen  told  Pericles  the  name 
of  their  country  was  Pentapolis,  and  that 
their  king  was  Symonides,  commonly  called 
the  good  Symonides,  because  of  his  peaceable 
reign  and  good  government.  From  them  he 
also  learned  that  king  Symonides  had  a fair 
young  daughter,  and  that  the  following  day 
was  her  birthday,  when  a grand  tournament 
was  to  be  held  at  court,  many  princes  and 
knights  being  come  from  all  parts  to  try  their 
skill  in  arms  for  the  love  of  Thaisa,  this  fair 
princess.  While  the  prince  was  listening  to 
this  account,  and  secretly  lamenting  the  loss 
of  his  good  armor,  which  disabled  him  from 
making  one  among  these  valiant  knights, 
another  fisherman  brought  in  a complete  suit 
of  armor  that  he  had  taken  out  of  the  sea 
with  his  fishing  net,  which  proved  to  be  the 


102 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


very  armor  he  had  lost.  When  Pericles 
beheld  his  own  armor  he  said,  “ Thanks, 
Fortune  ; after  all  my  crosses  you  give  me 
somewhat  to  repair  myself.  This  armor  was 
bequeathed  to  me  by  my  dead  father,  for 
whose  sake  I have  so  loved  it,  that  whither- 
soever I went,  I still  have  kept  it  by  me,  and 
the  rough  sea  that  parted  it  from  me,  having 
now  become  calm,  hath  given  it  back  again, 
for  which  I thank  it,  for,  since  I have  my 
father’s  gift  again,  I think  my  shipwreck  no 
misfortune.” 

The  next  day  Pericles,  clad  in  his  brave 
father’s  armor,  repaired  to  the  royal  court  of 
Symonides,  where  he  performed  wonders  at 
the  tournament,  vanquishing  with  ease  all  the 
brave  knights  and  valiant  princes  who  con- 
tended with  him  in  arms  for  the  honor  of 
Thaisa’s  love.  When  brave  warriors  con- 
tended at  court-tournaments  for  the  love  of 
kings’  daughters,  if  one  proved  sole  victor 
over  all  the  rest,  it  was  usual  for  the  great  lady 
for  whose  sake  these  deeds  of  valor  were 
undertaken,  to  bestow  all  her  respect  upon  the 
conqueror,  and  Thaisa  did  not  depart  from 
this  custom,  for  she  presently  dismissed  all 
the  princes  and  knights  whom  Pericles  had 
vanquished,  and  distinguished  him  by  her 
especial  favor  and  regard,  crowning  him  with 
the  wreath  of  victory,  as  king  of  that  day’s 
happiness  ; and  Pericles  became  a most 
passionate  lover  of  this  beauteous  princess 
from  the  first  moment  he  beheld  her. 


PERICLES,  PRINCE  OF  TYRE . 103 

The  good  Symonides  so  well  approved  of 
the  valor  and  noble  qualities  of  Pericles,  who 
was  indeed  a most  accomplished  gentleman, 
and  well  learned  in  all  excellent  arts,  that 
though  he  knew  not  the  rank  of  this  royal 
stranger  (for  Pericles  for  fear  of  Antiochus 
gave  out  that  he  was  a private  gentleman  of 
Tyre),  yet  did  not  Symonides  disdain  to  accept 
of  the  valiant  unknown  for  a son-in-law,  when 
he  perceived  his  daughter’s  affections  were 
firmly  fixed  upon  him. 

Pericles  had  not  been  many  months  married 
to  Thaisa,  before  he  received  intelligence  that 
his  enemy  Antiochus  was  dead  ; and  that  his 
subjects  of  Tyre,  impatient  of  his  long  absence, 
threatened  to  revolt,  and  talked  of  placing 
Hellicanus  upon  his  vacant  throne.  This  news 
came  from  Hellicanus  himself,  who  being  a 
loyal  subject  to  his  royal  master,  would  not 
accept  of  the  high  dignity  offered  him,  but 
sent  to  let  Pericles  know  their  intentions,  that 
he  might  return  home  and  resume  his  lawful 
right.  It  was  matter  of  great  surprise  and  joy 
to  Symonides,  to  find  that  his  son-in-law  (the 
obscure  knight)  was  the  renowned  prince  of 
Tyre  ; yet  again  he  regretted  that  he  was  not 
the  private  gentleman  he  supposed  him  to  be, 
seeing  that  he  must  now  part  both  with  his 
admired  son-in-law  and  his  beloved  daughter, 
whom  he  feared  to  trust  to  the  perils  of  the 
sea,  because  Thaisa  was  with  child  ; and 
Pericles  himself  wished  her  to  remain  with  her 
father  till  after  her  confinement,  but  the  poor 


104  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 

lady  so  earnestly  desired  to  go  with  her 
husband,  that  at  last  they  consented,  hoping 
she  would  reach  Tyre  before  she  was  brought 
to  bed. 

The  sea  was  no  friendly  element  to  unhappy 
Pericles,  for  long  before  they  reached  Tyre 
another  dreadful  tempest  arose,  which  so 
terrified  Thaisa  that  she  was  taken  ill,  and  in 
a short  space  of  time  her  nurse  Lychorida 
came  to  Pericles  with  a little  child  in  her  arms, 
to  tell  the  sad  tidings  that  his  wife  died  the 
moment  her  little  babe  was  born.  She  held 
the  babe  towards  its  father,  saying,  “ Here  is 
a thing  too  young  for  such  a place.  This  is 
the  child  of  your  dead  queen. ” No  tongue 
can  tell  the  dreadful  sufferings  of  Pericles 
when  he  heard  his  wife  was  dead.  As  soon  as 
he  could  speak,  he  said,  “ O you  gods,  why  do 
you  make  us  love  your  goodly  gifts,  and  then 
snatch  those  gifts  away  ? ” “ Patience,  good 

sir,”  said  Lychorida,  “ here  is  all  that  is  left  alive 
of  our  dead  queen,  a little  daughter,  and  for 
your  child’s  sake  be  more  manly.  Patience, 
good  sir,  even  for  the  sake  of  this  precious 
charge.”  Pericles  took  the  new-born  infant 
in  his  arms,  and  he  said  to  the  little  babe, 
“Now  may  your  life  be  mild,  for  a more 
blusterous  birth  had  never  babe  ! May  your 
condition  be  mild  and  gentle,  for  you  have  had 
the  rudest  welcome  that  ever  prince’s  child  did 
meet  with  ! May  that  which  follows  be  happy, 
for  you  have  had  as  chiding  a nativity  as  fire, 
air,  water,  earth,  and  heaven,  could  make,  to 


PERICLES , PRINCE  OF  TYRE . 105 

herald  you  from  the  womb  ! Even  at  the  first 
your  loss/5  meaning  in  the  death  of  her 
mother,  “ is  more  than  all  the  joys  which  you 
shall  find  upon  this  earth,  to  which  you  are 
come  a new  visitor,  shall  be  able  to  recom- 
pense.’5 

The  storm  still  continued  to  rage  furiously, 
and  the  sailors  having  a superstition  that  while 
a dead  body  remained  in  the  ship  the  storm 
would  never  cease,  they  came  to  Pericles  to 
demand  that  his  queen  should  be  thrown  over- 
board ; and  they  said,  “ What  courage,  sir  ? 
God  save  you  ! ” “ Courage  enough,”  said 

the  sorrowing  prince : “I  do  not  fear  the 
storm  ; it  has  done  to  me  its  worst ; yet  for 
the  love  of  this  poor  infant,  this  fresh  new 
sea-farer,  I wish  the  storm  was  over.”  “ Sir,” 
said  the  sailors,  “ Your  queen  must  overboard. 
The  sea  works  high,  the  wind  is  loud,  and  the 
storm  will  not  abate  till  the  ship  be  cleared  of 
the  dead.”  Though  Pericles  knew  how  weak 
and  unfounded  this  superstition  was,  yet  he 
patiently  submitted,  saying,  “ As  you  think 
meet.  Then  she  must  overboard,  most 
wretched  queen  ! ” And  now  this  unhappy 
prince  went  to  take  a last  view  of  his  dear 
wife,  and  as  he  looked  upon  his  Thaisa,  he 
said,  “ A terrible  childbed  hast  thou  had,  my 
dear  : no  light,  no  fire — the  unfriendly  elements 
forgot  thee  utterly,  nor  have  I time  to  bring 
thee  hallowed  to  thy  grave,  but  must  cast  thee 
scarcely  coffined  into  the  sea,  where  for  a 
monument  upon  thy  bones  the  humming 


io6 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


waters  must  overwhelm  thy  corpse,  lying  with 
simple  shells.  O Lychorida,  bid  Nestor  bring 
me  spices,  ink,  and  paper,  my  casket  and  my 
jewels,  and  bid  Nicandor  bring  me  the  satin 
coffin.  Lay  the  babe  upon  the  pillow,  and  go 
about  this  suddenly,  Lychorida,  while  I say  a 
priestly  farewell  to  my  Thaisa.” 

They  brought  Pericles  a large  chest,  in 
which  (wrapped  in  a satin  shroud)  he  placed 
his  queen,  and  sweet-smelling  spices  he 
strewed  over  her,  and  beside  her  he  placed 
rich  jewels,  and  a written  paper,  telling  who 
she  was  and  praying  if  haply  any  one  should 
find  the  chest  which  contained  the  body  of  his 
wife,  they  would  give  her  burial  : and  then 
with  his  own  hands  he  cast  the  chest  into  the 
sea.  When  the  storm  was  over,  Pericles 
ordered  the  sailors  to  make  for  Tharsus. 
“ For,”  said  Pericles,  “ the  babe  cannot  hold 
out  till  we  come  to  Tyre.  At  Tharsus  I will 
leave  it  at  careful  nursing.” 

After  that  tempestuous  night  when  Thaisa 
was  thrown  into  the  sea,  and  while  it  was  yet 
early  morning,  as  Cerimon,  a worthy  gentleman 
of  Ephesus,  and  a most  skillful  physician,  was 
standing  by  the  sea-side,  his  servants  brought 
to  him  a chest,  which  they  said  the  sea-waves 
had  thrown  on  the  land.  “ I never  saw,”  said 
one  of  them,  “so  huge  a billow  as  cast  it  on 
our  shore.”  Cerimon  ordered  the  chest  to  be 
conveyed  to  his  own  house,  and  when  it  was 
opened  he  beheld  with  wonder  the  body  of  a 
young  and  lovely  lady ; and  the  sweet-smelling 


PERICLES ; PRINCE  OF  TYRE.  107 

spices,  and  rich  casket  of  jewels,  made  him 
conclude  it  was  some  great  person  who  was 
thus  strangely  entombed : searching  further, 
he  discovered  a paper,  from  which  he  learned 
that  the  corpse  which  lay  as  dead  before  him 
had  been  a queen,  and  wife  to  Pericles,  prince 
of  Tyre  ; and  much  admiring  at  the  strange- 
ness of  that  accident,  and  more  pitying  the 
husband  who  had  lost  this  sweet  lady,  he  said, 
If  you  are  living,  Pericles,  you  have  a heart 
that  even  cracks  with  woe.”  Then  observing 
attentively  Thaisa’s  face,  he  saw  how  fresh 
and  unlike  death  her  looks  were ; and  he  said, 
‘'They  were  too  hasty  that  threw  you  into  the 
sea  : ” for  he  did  not  believe  her  to  be  dead. 
He  ordered  a fire  to  be  made,  and  proper  cor- 
dials to  be  brought,  and  soft  music  to  be  played, 
which  might  help  to  calm  her  amazed  spirits 
if  she  should  revive  ; and  he  said  to  those  who 
crowded  around  her,  wondering  at  what  they 
saw,  “ I pray  you,  gentlemen,  give  her  air ; this 
queen  will  live  ; she  has  not  been  entranced 
above  five  hours ; and  see,  she  begins  to  blow 
into  life  again  ; she  is  alive  ; behold,  her  eye- 
lids move  ; this  fair  creature  will  live  to  make 
us  weep  to  hear  her  fate.”  Thaisa  had  never 
died,  but  after  the  birth  of  her  little  baby  had 
fallen  into  a deep  swoon,  which  made  all  that 
saw  her  conclude  her  to  be  dead  ; and  now 
by  the  care  of  this  kind  gentleman  she  once 
more  revived  to  light  and  life ; and  opening 
her  eyes  she  said,  “ Where  am  I ? Where  is 
my  lord  ? What  world  is  this  ? ” By  gentle 


io8 


ALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARJB . 


degrees  Cerimon  let  her  understand  what  had 
befallen  her;  and  when  he  thought  she  was 
enough  recovered  to  bear  the  sight,  he  showed 
her  the  paper  written  by  her  husband,  and  the 
jewels ; and  she  looked  on  the  paper,  and  said, 
“ It  is  my  lord’s  writing.  That  I was  shipped 
at  sea,  I well  remember,  but  whether  there 
delivered  of  my  babe,  by  the  holy  gods  I can- 
not rightly  say;  but  since  my  wedded  lord  I 
never  shall  see  again,  I will  put  on  a vestal 
livery,  and  never  more  have  joy.”  “ Madam,” 
said  Cerimon,  “ if  you  purpose  as  you  speak, 
the  temple  of  Diana  is  not  far  distant  from 
hence,  there  you  may  abide  as  a vestal. 
Moreover,  if  you  please,  a niece  of  mine  shall 
there  attend  you.”  This  proposal  was  ac- 
cepted with  thanks  by  Thaisa ; and  when  she 
was  perfectly  recovered,  Cerimon  placed  her 
in  the  temple  of  Diana,  where  she  became  a 
vestal  or  priestess  of  that  goddess,  and  passed 
her  days  in  sorrowing  for  her  husband’s  sup- 
posed loss,  and  in  the  most  devout  exercises 
of  those  times. 

Pericles  carried  his  young  daughter  (whom 
he  named  Marina  because  she  was  born  at 
sea)  to  Tharsus,  intending  to  leave  her  with 
Cleon,  the  governor  of  that  city,  and  his  wife 
Dionysia,  thinking,  for  the  good  he  had  done 
to  them  at  the  time  of  their  famine,  they  would 
be  kind  to  his  little  motherless  daughter. 
When  Cleon  saw  Prince  Pericles,  and  heard 
of  the  great  loss  which  had  befallen  him,  he 
said,  “ O your  sweet  queen,  that  it  had  pleased 


PERICLES , PRINCE  OF  TYRE . 


ioo 


Heaven  you  could  have  brought  her  hither  to 
have  blessed  my  eyes  with  the  sight  of  her ! ” 
Pericles  replied,  “ We  must  obey  the  powers 
above  us.  Should  I rage  and  roar  as  the  sea 
does  in  which  my  Thaisa  lies,  yet  the  end  must 
be  as  it  is.  My  gentle  babe,  Marina  here,  I must 
charge  your  charity  with  her.  I leave  her  the 
infant  of  your  care,  beseeching  you  to  give  her 
princely  training.”  And  then  turning  to 
Cleon’s  wife,  Dionysia,  he  said,  “ Good  madam, 
make  me  blessed  in  your  care  in  bringing  up 
my  child  : ” and  she  answered,  “ I have  a 
child  myself  who  shall  not  be  more  dear  to  my 
respect  than  yours,  my  lord  ; ” and  Cleon  made 
the  like  promise,  saying,  “ Your  noble  services, 
Prince  Pericles,  in  feeding  my  whole  people 
with  your  corn  (for  which  in  their  prayers  they 
daily  remember  you)  must  in  your  child  be 
thought  on.  If  I should  neglect  your  child, 
my  whole  people  that  were  by  you  relieved 
would  force  me  to  my  duty  ; but  if  to  that  I 
need  a spur,  the  gods  revenge  it  on  me  and 
mine  to  the  end  of  generation.”  Pericles  be- 
ing thus  assured  that  his  child  would  be  care- 
fully attended  to,  left  her  to  the  protection  of 
Cleon,  and  his  wife  Dionysia,  and  with  her 
he  left  the  nurse  Lychorida.  When  he  went 
away,  the  little  Marina  knew  not  her  loss,  but 
Lychorida  wept  sadly  at  parting  with  her  royal 
master.  “ O,  no  tears,  Lychorida,”  said  Peri- 
cles ; “ no  tears  ; look  to  your  little  mistress, 
on  whose  grace  you  may  depend  hereafter.” 
Pericles  arrived  in  safety  at  Tyre,  and  was 


TIO 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


once  more  settled  in  the  quiet  possession  of 
his  throne,  while  his  woful  queen,  whom  he 
thought  dead,  remained  at  Ephesus.  Her 
little  babe  Marina,  whom  this  hapless  mother 
had  never  seen,  was  brought  up  by  Cleon  in  a 
manner  suitable  to  her  high  birth.  He  gave 
her  the  most  careful  education,  so  that  by  the 
time  Marina  attained  the  age  of  fourteen  years, 
the  most  deeply-learned  men  were  not  more 
studied  in  the  learning  of  those  times  than  was 
Marina.  She  sung  like  one  immortal,  and 
danced  as  goddess-like,  and  with  her  needle 
she  was  so  skillful  that  she  seemed  to  compose 
nature’s  own  shapes,  in  birds,  fruits,  or  flowers, 
the  natural  roses  being  scarcely  more  like  to 
each  other  than  they  were  to  Marina’s  silken 
flowers.  But  when  she  had  gained  from  educa- 
tion all  these  graces,  which  made  her  the  gen- 
eral wonder,  Dionysia,  the  wife  of  Cleon,  be- 
came her  mortal  enemy  from  jealousy,  by 
reason  that  her  own  daughter,  from  the  slow- 
ness of  her  mind,  was  not  able  to  attain  to 
that  perfection  wherein  Marina  excelled  : and 
finding  that  all  praise  was  bestowed  on  Marina, 
whilst  her  daughter,  who  was  of  the  same  age, 
and  had  been  educated  with  the  same  care  as 
Marina,  though  not  with  the  same  success, 
was  in  comparison  disregarded,  she  formed  a 
project  to  remove  Marina  out  of  the  way,  vainly 
imagining  that  her  untoward  daughter  would 
be  more  respected  when  Marina  was  no  more 
seen.  To  encompass  this  she  employed  a man 
to  murder  Marina,  and  she  well  timed  her 


PERICLES, , PRINCE  OF  TYRE . 


Ill 


wicked  design,  when  Lychorida,  the  faithful 
nurse,  had  just  died.  Dionysia  was  discours- 
ing with  the  man  she  had  commanded  to  com- 
mit this  murder,  when  the  young  Marina  was 
weeping  over  the  dead  Lychorida.  Leoline, 
the  man  she  employed  to  do  this  bad  deed, 
though  he  was  a very  wicked  man,  could  hardly 
be  persuaded  to  undertake  it,  so  had  Marina 
won  all  hearts  to  love  her.  He  said,  “ She  is 
a goodly  creature  i ” “ The  fitter  then  the 

gods  should  have  her,”  replied  her  merciless 
enemy ; “ here  she  comes,  weeping  for  the 
death  of  her  nurse  Lychorida  : are  you  resolved 
to  obey  me  ? ” Leoline,  fearing  to  disobey 
her,  replied,  “ I am  resolved.”  And  so,  in 
that  one  short  sentence,  was  the  matchless 
Marina  doomed  to  an  untimely  death.  She 
now  approached,  with  a basket  of  flowers  in 
her  hand,  which,  she  said,  she  would  daily 
strew  over  the  grave  of  good  Lychorida.  The 
purple  violet  and  the  marigold  should  as  a 
carpet  hang  upon  her  grave,  while  summer 
days  did  last.  “ Alas,  for  me ! ” she  said, 
“ poor  unhappy  maid,  born  in  a tempest,  when 
my  mother  died.  This  world  to  me  is  like  a 
lasting  storm,  hurrying  me  from  my  friends.” 
“ How  now,  Marina,”  said  the  dissembling 
Dionysia,  “ do  you  weep  alone  ? How  does  it 
chance  my  daughter  is  not  with  you  ? Do  not 
sorrow  for  Lychorida,  you  have  a nurse  in  me. 
Your  beauty  is  quite  changed  with  this  unprof- 
itable woe.  Come,  give  me  your  flowers,  the 
sea-air  will  spoil  them  ; and  walk  with  Leoline  : 


I 12 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


the  air  is  fine,  and  will  enliven  you.  Come, 
Leoline,  take  her  by  the  arm,  and  walk  with 
her.”  “ No,  madam,”  said  Marina,  “ I pray 
you  let  me  not  deprive  you  of  your  servant ; ” 
for  Leoline  was  one  of  Dionysia’s  attendants. 
“ Come,  come,”  said  this  artful  woman,  who 
wished  for  a pretense  to  leave  her  alone  with 
Leoline,  “ I love  the  prince,  your  father,  and  I 
love  you.  We  every  day  expect  your  father 
here;  and  when  he  comes,  and  finds  you  so 
changed  by  grief  from  the  paragon  of  beauty 
we  reported  you,  he  will  think  we  have  taken 
no  care  of  you.  Go,  I pray  you,  walk,  and  be 
cheerful  once  again.  Be  careful  of  that  excel- 
lent complexion,  which  stole  the  hearts  of  old 
and  young.”  Marina,  being  thus  importuned, 
said,  “ Well,  I will  go,  but  yet  I have  no  desire 
to  it.”  As  Dionysia  walked  away,  she  said  to 
Leoline,  “ Remember  what  I have  said!” — 
shocking  words,  for  their  meaning  was  that  he 
should  remember  to  kill  Marina. 

Marina  looked  towards  the  sea,  her  birth- 
place, and  said,  “ Is  the  wind  westerly  that 
blows  ? ” “ Southwest,”  replied  Leoline. 

“ When  I was  born  the  wind  was  north,”  said 
she  : and  then  the  storm  and  tempest,  and  all 
her  father’s  sorrows,  and  her  mother’s  death, 
came  full  into  her  mind  ; and  she  said,  “ My 
father,  as  Lychorida  told  me,  did  never  fear, 
but  cried,  Courage , good  sea7nen , to  the  sailors, 
galling  his  princely  hands  with  the  ropes,  and, 
clasping  to  the  mast,  he  endured  a sea  that 
almost  split  the  deck.”  “ When  was  this?” 


PERICLES , PRINCE  OF  TYRE.  113 

said  Leoline.  “ When  I was  born,”  replied 
Marina  : “ never  were  waves  nor  wind  more 
violent.”  And  then  she  described  the  storm, 
the  action  of  the  sailors,  the  boatswain’s 
whistle,  and  the  loud  call  of  the  master, 
“ Which,”  said  she,  “ trebled  the  confusion  of 
the  ship.”  Lychorida  had  so  often  recounted 
to  Marina  the  story  of  her  hapless  birth,  that 
these  things  seemed  ever  present  to  her 
imagination.  But  here  Leoline  interrupted 
her  with  desiring  her  to  say  her  prayers. 
“ What  mean  you  ? ” said  Marina,  who  began 
to  fear,  she  knew  not  why.  “If  you  require  a 
little  space  for  prayer,  I grant  it,”  said  Leo- 
line ; “but  be  not  tedious  ; the  gods  are  quick 
of  ear,  and  I am  sworn  to  do  my  work  in  haste.” 
“Will  you  kill  me?”  said  Marina;  “alas! 
why?”  “To  satisfy  my  lady,”  replied  Leo- 
line. “ Why  would  she  have  me  killed  ? ” said 
Marina  : “ now,  as  I can  remember,  I never 
hurt  her  in  all  my  life.  I never  spake  bad 
word,  nor  did  any  ill  turn  to  any  living 
creature.  Believe  me  now,  I never  killed  a 
mouse,  nor  hurt  a fly.  I trod  upon  a worm 
once  against  my  will,  but  I wept  for  it.  How 
have  I offended  ? ” The  murderer  replied, 
“ My  commission  is  not  to  reason  on  the  deed, 
but  to  do  it.”  And  he  was  just  going  to  kill 
her,  when  certain  pirates  happened  to  land  at 
that  very  moment,  who,  seeing  Marina,  bore 
her  off  as  a prize  to  their  ship. 

The  pirate  who  had  made  Marina  his  prize, 
carried  her  to  Metaline,  and  sold  her  for  a 
8 


1 1 4 TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 

slave,  where,  though  in  that  humble  condition 
Marina  soon  became  known  throughout  the 
whole  city  of  Metaline  for  her  beauty  and 
her  virtues  ; and  the  person  to  whom  she 
was  sold  became  rich  by  the  money  she  earned 
for  him.  She  taught  music,  dancing,  and 
fine  needlework,  and  the  money  she  got  by 
her  scholars  she  gave  to  her  master  and 
mistress  ; and  the  fame  of  her  learning  and 
her  great  industry  came  to  the  knowledge 
of  Lysimachus,  a young  nobleman  who  was 
the  governor  of  Metaline,  and  Lysimachus 
went  himself  to  the  house  where  Marina 
dwelt,  to  see  this  paragon  of  excellence,  whom 
all  the  city  praised  so  highly.  Her  conversa- 
tion delighted  Lysimachus  beyond  measure, 
for  though  he  had  heard  much  of  this  admired 
maiden,  he  did  not  expect  to  find  her  so  sensi- 
ble a lady,  so  virtuous,  and  so  good,  as  he 
perceived  Marina  to  be  ; and  he  left  her,  say- 
ing he  hoped  she  would  persevere  in  her 
industrious  and  virtuous  course,  and  that  if 
ever  she  heard  from  him  again  it  should  be 
for  her  good.  Lysimachus  thought  Marina 
such  a miracle  for  sense,  fine  breeding,  and 
excellent  qualities,  as  well  as  for  beauty  and 
all  outward  graces,  that  he  wished  to  marry 
her,  and  notwithstanding  her  humble  situation 
he  hoped  to  find  that  her  birth  was  noble  ; 
but  ever  when  they  asked  her  parentage,  she 
would  sit  still  and  weep. 

Meantime,  at  Tharsus,  Leoline,  fearing  the 
anger  of  Dionysia,  told  her  he  had  killed 


PERICLES, , PRINCE  OF  TYRE . 115 

Marina  ; and  that  wicked  woman  gave  out 
that  she  was  dead,  and  made  a pretended 
funeral  for  her,  and  erected  a stately  monu- 
ment, and  shortly  after  Pericles,  accompanied 
by  his  loyal  minister  Hellicanus,  made  a voy- 
age from  Tyre  to  Tharsus,  on  purpose  to  see 
his  daughter,  intending  to  take  her  home  with 
him  ; and  he  never  having  beheld  her  since 
he  left  her  an  infant  in  the  care  of  Cleon  and 
his  wife,  how  did  this  good  prince  rejoice  at 
the  thoughts  of  seeing  this  dear  child  of  his 
buried  queen  ! but  when  they  told  him  Marina 
was  dead,  and  showed  the  monument  they 
had  erected  for  her,  great  was  the  misery  this 
most  wretched  father  endured,  and  not  being 
able  to  bear  the  sight  of  that  country  where 
his  last  hope  and  only  memory  of  his  dear 
Thaisa  was  entombed,  he  took  ship,  and 
hastily  departed  from  Tharsus.  From  the 
day  he  entered  the  ship  a dull  and  heavy 
melancholy  seized  him.  He  never  spoke, 
and  seemed  totally  insensible  to  everything 
around  him. 

Sailing  from  Tharsus  to  Tyre,  the  ship  in 
its  course  passed  by  Metaline,  where  Marina 
dwelt ; the  governor  of  which  place,  Lysim- 
achus,  observing  this  royal  vessel  from  the 
shore,  and  desirous  of  knowing  who  was  on 
board,  went  in  a barge  to  the  side  of  the  ship, 
to  satisfy  his  curiosity.  Hellicanus  received 
him  very  courteously,  and  told  him  that  the 
ship  came  from  Tyre,  and  that  they. were  con- 
ducting thither,  Pericles  their  prince ; “ A 


1 1 6 TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 

man,  sir,”  said  Hellicanus,  “ who  has  not 
spoken  to  any  one  these  three  months,  nor 
taken  any  sustenance,  but  just  to  prolong  his 
grief  ; it  would  be  tedious  to  repeat  the  whole 
ground  of  his  distemper,  but  the  main  springs 
from  the  loss  of  a beloved  daughter  and  a 
wife.”  Lysimachus  begged  to  see  this  afflicted 
prince,  and  when  he  beheld  Pericles,  he  saw 
he  had  been  once  a goodly  person,  and  he 
said  to  him,  “ Sir  king,  all  hail,  the  gods  pre- 
serve you,  hail,  royal  sir ! ” But  in  vain 
Lysimachus  spoke  to  him.  Pericles  made  no 
answer,  nor  did  he  appear  to  perceive  any 
stranger  approached.  And  then  Lysimachus 
bethought  him  of  the  peerless  maid  Marina, 
that  haply  with  her  sweet  tongue  she  might 
win  some  answer  from  the  silent  prince  : and 
with  the  consent  of  Hellicanus  he  sent  for 
Marina,  and  when  she  entered  the  ship  in 
which  her  own  father  sat  motionless  with  grief, 
they  welcomed  her  on  board  as  if  they  had 
known  she  was  their  princess  ; and  they  cried, 
“ She  is  a gallant  lady.”  Lysimachus  was 
well  pleased  to  hear  their  commendations,  and 
he  said,  “ She  is  such  a one,  that  were  I well 
assured  she  came  of  noble  birth,  I would  wish 
no  better  choice,  and  think  me  rarely  blessed 
in  a wife.”  And  then  he  addressed  her  in 
courtly  terms,  as  if  the  lowly-seeming  maid 
had  been  the  high-born  lady  he  washed  to  find 
her,  calling  her  Fair  and  beautiful  Marina , 
telling  her  a great  prince  on  board  that  ship 
had  fallen  into  a sad  and  mournful  silence  ; 


PERICLES,  PRINCE  OF  TYRE.  117 

and  as  if  Marina  had  the  power  of  conferring 
health  and  felicity,  he  begged  she  would 
undertake  to  cure  the  royal  stranger  of  his 
melancholy.  “ Sir,”  said  Marina,  “ I will  use 
my  utmost  skill  in  his  recovery,  provided  none 
but  I and  my  maid  be  suffered  to  come  near 
him.” 

She,  who  at  lyietaline  had  so  carefully  con- 
cealed her  birth,  ashamed  to  tell  that  one  of 
royal  ancestry  was  now  a slave,  first  began  to 
speak  to  Pericles  of  the  wayward  changes  in 
her  own  fate,  telling  him  from  what  a high 
estate  herself  had  fallen.  As  if  she  had 
known  it  was  her  royal  father  she  stood 
before,  all  the  words  she  spoke  were  of  her 
own  sorrows  ; but  her  reason  for  so  doing  was, 
that  she  knew  nothing  more  wins  the  attention 
of  the  unfortunate  than  the  recital  of  some  sad 
calamity  to  match  their  own.  The  sound  of 
her  sweet  voice  aroused  the  drooping  prince  ; 
he  lifted  up  his  eyes,  which  had  been  so  long 
fixed  and  motionless  ; and  Marina,  who  was 
the  perfect  image  of  her  mother,  presented  to 
his  amazed  sight  the  features  of  his  beloved 
queen.  The  long-silent  prince  was  once  more 
heard  to  speak.  “ My  dearest  wife,”  said  the 
awakened  Pericles,  “ was  like  this  maid,  and 
such  a one  might  my  daughter  have  been. 
My  queen’s  square  brows,  her  stature  to  an 
inch,  as  wandlike  straight,  as  silver-voiced, 
her  eyes  as  jewel-like.  Where  do  you  live, 
young  maid  ? Report  your  parentage.  I 
think  you  said  you  had  been  tossed  from 


n8 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


wrong  to  injury,  and  that  you  thought  your 
griefs  would  equal  mine,  if  both  were  opened.” 
“ Some  such  thing  I said,”  replied  Marina, 
“ and  said  no  more  than  what  my  thoughts 
did  warrant  me  as  likely.”  “Tell  me  your 
story,”  answered  Pericles;  “if  I find  you  have 
known  the  thousandth  part  of  my  endurance, 
you  have  borne  your  sorrows  like  a man,  and  I 
have  suffered  like  a girl ; yet  you  do  look  like 
Patience  gazing  on  kings’  graves,  and  smiling 
Extremity  out  of  act.  How  lost  you  your 
name,  my  most  kind  virgin  ? Recount  your 
story,  I beseech  you.  Come  sit  by  me.”  How 
was  Pericles  surprised  when  she  said  her  name 
was  Marina , for  he  knew  it  was  no  usual  name, 
but  had  been  invented  by  himself  for  his  own 
child  to  signify  seaborn  : “ O,  I am  mocked,” 
said  he,  “ and  you  are  sent  hither  by  some  in- 
censed god  to  make  the  world  laugh  at  me.” 
Patience,  good  sir,”  said  Marina,  “ or  I must 
cease  here.”  “ Nay,”  said  Pericles,  “ I will 
be  patient ; you  little  know  how  you  do  startle 
me,  to  call  yourself  Marina.”  “ The  name,”  she 
replied,  “ was  given  me  by  one  that  had  some 
power,  my  father,  and  a king.”  “ How,  a 
king’s  daughter ! ” said  Pericles,  “ and  called 
Marina  ! But  are  you  flesh  and  blood  ? Are 
you  no  fairy  ? Speak  on  ! where  were  you 
born  ? and  wherefore  called  Marina  ? ” She 
replied,  “ I was  called  Marina,  because  I was 
born  at  sea.  My  mother  was  the  daughter  of 
a king  ; she  died  the  minute  I was  born,  as  my 
good  nurse  Lychorida  has  often  told  me  weep- 


PERICLES , PRINCE  OF  TYRE . 1 19 

ing.  The  king  my  father  left  me  at  Tharsus, 
till  the  cruel  wife  of  Cleon  sought  to  murder 
me.  A crew  of  pirates  came  and  rescued  me, 
and  brought  me  here  to  Metaline.  But,  good 
sir,  why  do  you  weep  ? It  may  be,  you  think 
me  an  impostor.  But  indeed,  sir,  I am  the 
daughter  to  king  Pericles,  if  good  king  Pericles 
be  living.”  Then  Pericles,  terrified  as  it 
seemed  at  his  own  sudden  joy,  and  doubtful  if 
this  could  be  real,  loudly  called  for  his  attend- 
ants, who  rejoiced  at  the  sound  of  their  be- 
loved king’s  voice  ; and  he  said  to  Hellicanus, 
“ O Hellicanus,  strike  me,  give  me  a gash,  put 
me  to  present  pain,  lest  this  great  sea  of  joys 
rushing  upon  me  overbear  the  shores  of  my  mor- 
tality. O,  come  hither,  thou  that  was  born  at 
sea,  buried  at  Tharsus,  and  found  at  sea  again. 
O Hellicanus,  down  on  your  knees,  thank  the 
holy  gods  ! This  is  Marina.  Now  blessings 
on  thee,  my  child ! Give  me  fresh  garments, 
mine  own  Hellicanus  ! She  is  not  dead  at 
Tharsus,  as  she  should  have  been  by  the  sav- 
age Dionysia.  She  shall  tell  you  all,  when 
you  shall  kneel  to  her,  and  call  her  your  very 
princess.  Who  is  this  ? ” (observing  Lysi- 
machus  for  the  first  time).  “ Sir,”  said  Hel- 
licanus, “ it  is  the  governor  of  Metaline,  who, 
hearing  of  your  melancholy,  came  to  see  you.” 
“ I embrace  you,  sir,”  said  Pericles.  “ Give 

me  my  robes  ! I am  well  with  beholding O 

Heaven  bless  my  girl  ! But  hark  ! what  music 
is  that  ? ” — for  now,  either  sent  by  some  kind 
god,  or  by  his  own  delighted  fancy  deceived* 


120 


TALES  FROM,  SHAKSPEARE. 


he  seemed  to  hear  soft  music.  “ My  lord,  I 
hear  none,”  replied  Hellicanus.  “ None,”  said 
Pericles  : “ why,  it  is  the  music  of  the  spheres.” 
As  there  was  no  music  to  be  heard,  Lysi- 
machus  concluded  that  the  sudden  joy  had 
unsettled  the  prince’s  understanding  ; and  he 
said,  “ It  is  not  good  to  cross  him  ; let  him 
Pave  his  way  : ” and  then  they  told  him  they 
heard  the  music  ; and  he  now  complaining  of 
a drowsy  slumber  coming  over  him,  Lysimachus 
persuaded  him  to  rest  on  a couch,  and  placing 
a pillow  under  his  head,  he,  quite  overpowered 
with  excess  of  joy,  sank  into  a sound  sleep, 
and  Marina  watched  in  silence  by  the  couch 
of  her  sleeping  parent. 

While  he  slept,  Pericles  dreamed  a dream 
which  made  him  resolve  to  go  to  Ephesus. 
His  dream  was,  that  Diana,  the  goddess  of 
the  Ephesians,  appeared  to  him,  and  com- 
manded him  to  go  to  her  temple  at  Ephesus, 
and  there  before  her  altar  to  declare  the  story 
of  his  life  and  misfortunes  ; and  by  her  silver 
bow  she  swore,  that  if  he  performed  her  in- 
junction, he  should  meet  with  some  rare  felic- 
ity. When  he  awoke,  being  miraculously  re- 
freshed, he  told  his  dream,  and  that  his  resolu- 
tion was  to  obey  the  bidding  of  the  goddess. 

Then  Lysimachus  invited  Pericles  to  come 
on  shore,  and  refresh  himself  with  such  enter- 
tainment as  he  should  find  at  Metaline,  which 
courteous  offer  Pericles  accepting,  agreed  to 
tarry  with  him  for  the  space  of  a day  or  two. 
During  which  time  we  may  well  suppose  what 


PERICLES , PRINCE  OF  TYRE . 


1 2 I 


f eastings,  what  rejoicings,  what  costly  shows 
and  entertainments  the  governor  made  in  Met- 
aline, to  greet  the  royal  father  of  his  dear 
Marina,  whom  in  her  obscure  fortunes  he  had 
so  respected.  Nor  did  Pericles  frown  upon 
Lysimachus’s  suit,  when  he  understood  how 
he  had  honored  his  child  in  the  days  of  her 
low  estate,  and  that  Marina  showed  herself  not 
averse  to  his  proposals  ; only  he  made  it  a con- 
dition, before  he  gave  his  consent,  that  they 
should  visit  with  him  the  shrine  of  the  Ephe- 
sian Diana  : to  whose  temple  they  shortly  after 
all  three  undertook  a voyage ; and,  the  god- 
dess herself  filling  their  sails  with  prosperous 
winds,  after  a few  weeks  they  arrived  in  safety 
at  Ephesus. 

There  was  standing  near  the  altar  of  the 
goddess,  when  Pericles  with  his  train  entered 
the  temple,  the  good  Cerimon  (now  grown  very 
aged)  who  had  restored  Thaisa,  the  wife  of 
Pericles,  to  life ; and  Thaisa,  now  a priestess 
of  the  temple,  was  standing  before  the  altar  ; 
and  though  the  many  years  he  had  passed  in 
sorrow  for  her  loss  had  much  altered  Pericles, 
Thaisa  thought  she  knew  her  husband’s  fea- 
tures, and  when  he  approached  the  altar  and 
began  to  speak,  she  remembered  his  voice,  and 
listened  to  his  words  with  wonder  and  a joyful 
amazement.  And  these  were  the  words  that 
Pericles  spoke  before  the  altar : “ Hail, 

Diana  ! to  perform  thy  just  commands,  I here 
confess  myself  the  prince  of  Tyre,  who, 
frightened  from  my  county,  at  Pentapolis 


122 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


wedded  the  fair  Thaisa : she  died  at  sea  in 
child-bed,  but  brought  forth  a maid-child  called 
Marina.  She  at  Tharsus  was  nursed  with 
Dionysia,  who  at  fourteen  years  thought  to  kill 
her,  but  her  better  stars  brought  her  to  Metaline, 
by  whose  shores  as  I sailed,  her  good  fortunes 
brought  this  maid  on  board,  where  by  her 
most  clear  remembrance  she  made  herself 
known  to  be  my  daughter.” 

Thaisa,  unable  to  bear  the  transports  which 
his  words  had  raised  in  her,  cried  out,  “ You 
are,  you  are,  O royal  Pericles  ” — and  fainted. 
“ What  means  this  woman  ? ” said  Pericles  : 
“ she  dies  ! gentlemen,  help  ! ” — “ Sir,  ” said 
Cerimon,  “ if  you  have  told  Diana’s  altar  true, 
this  is  your  wife.”  “ Reverend  gentleman,  no  ; ” 
said  Pericles : “ I threw  her  overboard  with 
these  very  arms.”  Cerimon  then  recounted 
how,  early  one  tempestuous  morning,  this  lady 
was  thrown  upon  the  Ephesian  shore ; how, 
opening  the  coffin,  he  found  therein  rich 
jewels,  and  a paper  ; how  happily  he  recovered 
her,  and  placed  her  here  in  Diana’s  temple. 
And  now,  Thaisa  being  restored  from  her 
swoon,  said,  “ O my  lord,  are  you  not  Pericles  ? 
Like  him  you  speak,  like  him  you  are. 
Did  you  not  name  a tempest,  a birth,  and  a 
death  ? ” He,  astonished,  said,  “ The  voice  of 
dead  Thaisa!”  “ That  Thaisa  am  I, ”she  re- 
plied, “ supposed  dead  and  drowned.”  “ O 
true  Diana  ! ” exclaimed  Pericles,  in  a passion 
of  devout  astonishment.  “ And  now,”  said 
Thaisa,  “ I know  you  better.  Such  a ring  as 


PERICLES , PRINCE  OF  TYRE . 123 


I see  on  your  finger  did  the  king  my  father 
give  you,  when  we  with  tears  parted  from  him 
at  Pentapolis.”  “ Enough,  you  gods  ! ” cried 
Pericles,  “your  present  kindness  makes  my 
past  miseries  sport.  O come,  Thaisa,  be  buried 
a second  time  within  these  arms.” 

And  Marina  said,  “ My  heart  leaps  to  be  gone 
into  my  mother’s  bosom.”  Then  did  Pericles 
show  his  daughter  to  her  mother,  saying,  “ Look 
who  kneels  here,  flesh  of  thy  flesh,  thy  burthen 
at  sea,  and  called  Marina,  because  she  was 
yielded  there.”  “ Blessed  and  my  own  ! ” said 
Thaisa  : and  while  she  hung  in  rapturous  joy 
over  her  child,  Pericles  knelt  before  the  altar, 
saying,  “ Pure  Diana,  bless  thee  for  thy  vision. 
For  this  I will  offer  oblations  nightly  to  thee.” 
And  then  and  there  did  Pericles,  with  the  con- 
sent of  Thaisa,  solemnly  affiance  their  daugh- 
ter, the  virtuous  Marina,  to  the  well-deserving 
Lysimachus  in  marriage. 

Thus  have  we  seen  in  Pericles,  his  queen  and 
daughter,  a famous  example  of  virtue  assailed 
by  calamity  (through  the  suffrance  of  Heaven, 
to  teach  patience  and  constancy  to  men),  under 
the  same  guidance  becoming  finally  successful, 
and  triumphing  over  chance  and  change.  In 
Hellicanus  we  have  beheld  a notable  pattern 
of  truth,  of  faith  and  loyalty,  who,  when  he 
might  have  succeeded  to  a throne,  chose 
rather  to  recall  the  rightful  owner  to  his  pos- 
session than  to  become  great  by  another’s 
wrong.  In  the  worthy  Cerimon,  who  restored 
Thaisa  to  life,  we  are  instructed  how  goodness 


124 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


directed  by  knowledge,  in  bestowing  benefits 
upon  mankind,  approaches  to  the  nature  of  the 
gods.  It  only  remains  to  be  told,  that  Dionysia, 
the  wicked  wife  of  Cleon,  met  with  an  end 
proportionable  to  her  deserts  ; the  inhabitants 
of  Tharsus,  when  her  cruel  attempt  upon 
Marina  was  known,  rising  in  a body  to  revenge 
the  daughter  of  their  benefactor,  and  setting  fire 
to  the  palace  of  Cleon,  burnt  both  him  and 
her,  and  their  whole  household : the  gods 
seeming  well  pleased,  that  so  foul  a murder, 
though  but  intentional,  and  never  carried  into 
act,  should  be  punished  in  a way  befitting  its 
enormity. 


THE  WINTER’S  TALE. 


Leontes,  king  of  Sicily,  and  his  queen,  the 
beautiful  and  virtuous  Hermione,  once  lived 
in  the  greatest  harmony  together.  So  happy 
was  Leontes  in  the  love  of  this  excellent  lady, 
that  he  had  no  wish  ungratified,  except  that 
he  sometimes  desired  to  see  again,  and  to 
present  to  his  queen,  his  old  companion  and 
school-fellow,  Polixenes,  king  of  Bohemia. 
Leontes  and  Polixenes  were  brought  up  to- 
gether from  their  infancy,  but  being  by  the 
death  of  their  fathers  called  to  reign  over  their 
respective  kingdoms  they  had  not  met  for  many 
years,  though  they  frequently  interchanged 
gifts,  letters  and  loving  embassies. 

At  length,  after  repeated  invitations,  Polix- 
enes came  from  Bohemia  to  the  Sicilian  court 
to  make  his  friend  Leontes  a visit. 

At  first  this  visit  gave  nothing  but  pleasure 
to  Leontes.  He  recommended  the  friend  of 
his  youth  to  the  queen’s  particular  attention, 
and  seemed  in  the  presence  of  his  dear  friend 
and  old  companion  to  have  his  felicity  quite 
completed.  They  talked  over  old  times  : 
their  school-days  and  their  youthful  pranks  were 
remembered,  and  recounted  to  Hermione,  who 
always  took  a cheerful  part  in  these  conversa- 
tions. 


I25 


126  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


When,  after  a long  stay,  Polixenes  was  pre- 
paring to  depart,  Hermione,  at  the  desire  of 
her  husband,  joined  her  entreaties  to  his  that 
Polixenes  would  prolong  his  visit. 

And  now  began  this  good  queen’s  sorrow  ; 
for  Polixenes  refusing  to  stay  at  the  request  of 
Leontes,  was  won  over  by  Hermione’s  gentle 
and  persuasive  words  to  put  off  his  departure 
for  some  weeks  longer.  Upon  this,  although 
Leontes  had  so  long  known  the  integrity  and 
honorable  principles  of  his  friend  Polixenes, 
as  well  as  the  excellent  disposition  of  his 
virtuous  queen,  he  was  seized  with  an  ungov- 
ernable jealousy.  Every  attention  Hermione 
showed  to  Polixenes  though  by  her  husband’s 
particular  desire,  and  merely  to  please  him, 
increased  the  unfortunate  king’s  jealousy 
and  from  being  a loving  and  true  friend  and 
the  best  and  fondest  of  husbands,  Leontes  be- 
came suddenly  a savage  and  inhuman  monster. 
Sending  for  Camillo,  one  of  the  lords  of  his 
court,  and  telling  him  of  the  suspicion  he  en- 
tertained, he  commanded  him  to  poison  Polix- 
enes. 

Camillo  was  a good  man ; and  he,  well 
knowing  that  the  jealousy  of  Leontes  had  not 
the  slightest  foundation  in  truth,  instead  of 
poisoning  Polixenes,  acquainted  him  with  the 
king  his  master’s  orders,  and  agreed  to  escape 
with  him  out  of  the  Sicilian  dominions  ; and 
Polixenes,  with  the  assistance  of  Camillo,  ar- 
rived safe  in  his  own  kingdom  of  Bohemia, 
where  Camillo  lived  from  that  time  in  the 


THE  WINTER'S  TALE. 


127 


king  s court,  and  became  the  chief  friend  and 
favorite  of  Polixenes. 

The  flight  of  Polixenes  enraged  the  jealous 
Leontes  still  more  ; he  went  to  the  queen’s 
apartment,  where  the  good  lady  was  sitting 
with  her  little  son  Mamillus,  who  was  just  be- 
ginning to  tell  one  of  his  best  stories  to  amuse 
his  mother,  when  the  king  entered,  and  taking 
the  child  away,  sent  Hermione  to  prison. 

Mamillus,  though  but  a very  young  child, 
loved  his  mother  tenderly ; and  when  he  saw 
her  so  dishonored,  and  found  she  was  taken 
from  him  to  be  put  into  a prison,  he  took  it 
deeply  to  heart,  and  drooped  and  pined  away 
by  slow  degrees,  losing  his  appetite  and  his 
sleep,  till  it  was  thought  his  grief  would  kill 
him. 

The  king,  when  he  had  sent  his  queen  to 
prison,  commanded  Cleomenes  and  Dion,  two 
Sicilian  lords,  to  go  to  Delphos  there  to  in- 
quire of  the  oracle  at  the  temple  of  Apollo,  if 
his  queen  had  been  unfaithful  to  him. 

When  Hermione  had  been  a short  time  in 
prison,  she  was  brought  to  bed  of  a daughter ; 
and  the  poor  lady  received  much  comfort  from 
the  sight  of  her  pretty  baby,  and  she  said  to 
it,  “ My  poor  little  prisoner,  I am  as  innocent  as 
you  are.” 

Hermione  had  a kind  friend  in  the  noble- 
spirited  Paulina,  who  was  the  wife  of  Anti- 
gonus,  a Sicilian  lord : and  when  the  lady 
Paulina  heard  her  royal  mistress  was  brought 
to  bed,  she  went  to  the  prison  where  Hermi- 


128  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 

one  was  confined  ; and  she  said  to  Emilia,  a 
lady  who  attended  upon  Hermione,  44  I pray 
you,  Emilia,  tell  the  good  queen,  if  her  majesty 
dare  trust  me  with  her  little  babe,  I will  carry 
it  to  the  king  its  father  : we  do  not  know  how 
he  may  soften  at  the  sight  of  his  innocent 
child.”  44  Most  worthy  madam,”  replied 
Emilia,  44 1 will  acquaint  the  queen  with  your 
noble  offer ; she  was  wishing  to-day  that  she 
had  any  friend  who  would  venture  to  present 
the  child  to  the  king.”  44  And  tell  her,”  said 
Paulina,  44  that  I will  speak  boldly  to  Leontes 
in  her  defense.”  44  May  you  be  for  ever 
blessed,”  said  Emilia,  44  for  your  kindness  to 
our  gracious  queen  ! ” Emilia  then  went  to 
Hermione,  who  joyfully  gave  up  her  baby  to 
the  care  of  Paulina,  for  she  had  feared  that 
no  one  would  dare  venture  to  present  the 
child  to  its  father. 

Paulina  took  the  new-born  infant,  and  forc- 
ing herself  into  the  king’s  presence,  notwith- 
standing her  husband,  fearing  the  king’s  anger, 
endeavored  to  prevent  her,  she  laid  the  babe 
at  its  father’s  feet,  and  Paulina  made  a noble 
speech  to  the  king  in  defense  of  Hermione, 
and  she  reproached  him  severely  for  his  in- 
humanity, and  implored  him  to  have  mercy  on 
his  innocent  wife  and  child.  But  Paulina’s 
spirited  remonstrances  only  aggravated 
Leontes’s  displeasure,  and  he  ordered  her 
husband  Antigonus  to  take  her  from  his  pres- 
ence. 

When  Paulina  went  away,  she  left  the  little 


THE  WINTER'S  TALE . 


129 


baby  at  its  father’s  feet,  thinking,  when  he  was 
alone  with  it,  he  would  look  upon  it  and  have 
pity  on  its  helpless  innocence. 

The  good  Paulina  was  mistaken  : for  no 
sooner  was  she  gone  than  the  merciless  father 
ordered  Antigonus,  Paulina’s  husband,  to  take 
the  child,  and  carry  it  out  to  sea,  and  leave  it 
upon  some  desert  shore  to  perish. 

Antigonus,  unlike  the  good  Camillo,  too 
well  obeyed  the  orders  of  Leontes ; for  he 
immediately  carried  the  child  on  ship-board, 
and  put  out  to  sea,  intending  to  leave  it  on 
the  first  desert  coast  he  could  find. 

So  firmly  was  the  king  persuaded  of  the  guilt 
of  Hermione,  that  he  would  not  wait  for  the 
return  of  Cleomenes  and  Dion,  whom  he  had 
sent  to  consult  the  oracle  of  Apollo  at  Delphos  ; 
but  before  the  queen  was  recovered  from  her 
lying-in,  and  from  her  grief  for  the  loss  of  her 
precious  baby,  he  had  her  brought  to  a public 
trial  before  all  the  lords  and  nobles  of  his  court. 
And  when  all  the  great  lords,  the  judges,  and 
all  the  nobility  of  the  land,  were  assembled 
together  to  try  Hermione,  and  that  unhappy 
queen  was  standing  as  a prisoner  before  her 
subjects  to  receive  their  judgment,  Cleomenes 
and  Dion  entered  the  assembly,  and  presented 
to  the  king  the  answer  of  the  oracle  sealed  up  ; 
and  Leontes  commanded  the  seal  to  be  bro- 
ken, and  the  words  of  the  oracle  to  be  read 
aloud,  and  these  were  the  words  : — “ Hermi- 
one is  innocent, ' Polixenes  blameless,  Camillo  a 
true  subject , Leontes  a jealous  tyrant , and  the 
9 


130  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 

king  shall  live  without  an  heir  if  that  which  is 
lost  be  not  found”  The  king  would  give  no 
credit  to  the  words  of  the  oracle  : he  said  it  was 
a falsehood  invented  by  the  queen’s  friends, 
and  he  desired  the  judge  to  proceed  in  the  trial 
of  the  queen  ; but  while  Leontes  was  speaking 
a man  entered  and  told  him  that  the  prince  Ma- 
millus,  hearing  his  mother  was  to  be  tried  for 
her  life,  struck  with  grief  and  shame,  had 
suddenly  died. 

Hermione,  upon  hearing  of  the  death  of  this 
dear  affectionate  child  who  had  lost  his  life  in 
sorrowing  for  her  misfortune,  fainted ; and 
Leontes,  pierced  to  the  heart  by  the  news,  began 
to  feel  pity  for  his  unhappy  queen,  and  he 
ordered  Paulina,  and  the  ladies  who  were  her 
attendants,  to  take  her  away,  and  use  means 
for  her  recovery.  Paulina  soon  returned,  and 
told  the  king  that  Hermione  was  dead. 

When  Leontes  heard  that  the  queen  was 
dead,  he  repented  of  his  cruelty  to  her ; and 
now  that  he  thought  his  ill-usage  had  broken 
Hermione’s  heart,  he  believed  her  innocent ; 
and  he  now  thought  the  words  of  the  oracle 
were  true,  as  he  knew  “ if  that  which  was  lost 
was  not  found,”  which  he  concluded  was  his 
young  daughter,  he  should  be  without  an  heir, 
the  young  prince  Mamillus  being  dead  ; and 
he  would  give  his  kingdom  now  to  recover  his 
lost  daughter  ; and  Leontes  gave  himself  up 
to  remorse,  and  passed  many  years  in  mourn- 
ful thoughts  and  repentant  grief. 

The  ship  in  which  Antigonus  carried  the 


THE  WINTER'S  TALE.  13 1 

infant  princess  out  to  sea  was  driven  by  a storm 
upon  the  coast  of  Bohemia,  the  very  kingdom 
of  the  good  king  Polixenes.  Here  Antigonus 
landed,  and  here  he  left  the  little  baby. 

Antigonus  never  returned  to  Sicily  to  tell 
Leontes  where  he  had  left  his  daughter,  for  as 
he  was  going  back  to  the  ship,  a bear  came  out 
of  the  woods,  and  tore  him  to  pieces  : a just 
punishment  on  him  for  obeying  the  wicked 
order  of  Leontes. 

The  child  was  dressed  in  rich  clothes  and 
jewels  ; for  Hermione  had  made  it  very  fine 
when  she  sent  it  to  Leontes,  and  Antigonus 
Had  pinned  a paper  to  its  mantle,  with  the  name 
of  Perdita  written  thereon,  and  words  obscurely 
intimating  its  high  birth  and  untoward  fate. 

This  poor  deserted  baby  was  found  by  a 
shepherd.  He  was  a humane  man,  and  so  he 
carried  the  little  Perdita  home  to  his  wife,  who 
nursed  it  tenderly  ; but  poverty  tempted  the 
shepherd  to  conceal  the  rich  prize  he  had 
found  ; therefore  he  left  that  part  of  the  country 
that  no  one  might  know  where  he  got  his 
riches,  and  with  part  of  Perdita’s  jewels  he 
bought  herds  of  sheep,  and  became  a wealthy 
shepherd.  He  brought  up  Perdita  as  his  own 
child,  and  she  knew  not  she  was  any  other 
than  a shepherd’s  daughter. 

The  little  Perdita  grew  up  a lovely  maiden, 
and  though  she  had  no  better  education  than 
that  of  a shepherd’s  daughter,  yet  so  did  the 
natural  graces  she  inherited  from  her  royal 
mother  shine  forth  in  her  untutored  mind,  that 


132  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 

no  one  from  her  behavior  would  have  known 
she  had  not  been  brought  up  in  her  father’s 
court. 

Polixenes,  the  king  of  Bohemia,  had  an  only 
son,  whose  name  was  Florizel.  As  this  young 
prince  was  hunting  near  the  shepherd’s  dwell- 
ing, he  saw  the  old  man’s  supposed  daughter  ; 
and  the  beauty,  modesty,  and  queen-like  de- 
portment of  Perdita  caused  him  instantly  to 
fall  in  love  with  her.  He  soon,  under  the 
name  of  Doricles,  and  in  the  disguise  of  a 
private  gentleman,  became  a constant  visitor 
at  the  old  shepherd’s  house. 

Florizel’s  frequent  absence  from  court  alarm- 
ed Polixenes  ; and  setting  people  to  watch  his 
son,  he  discovered  his  love  for  the  shepherd’s 
fair  daughter. 

Polixenes  then  called  for  Camillo,  the  faith- 
ful Camiilo,  who  had  preserved  his  life  from 
the  fury  of  Leontes ; and  desired  that  he 
would  accompany  him  to  the  house  of  the 
shepherd,  the  supposed  father  of  Perdita. 

Polixenes  and  Camillo,  both  in  disguise, 
arrived  at  the  old  shepherd’s  dwelling  while 
they  were  celebrating  the  feast  of  sheep-shear- 
ing : and  though  they  were  strangers,  yet  at 
the  sheep-shearing  every  guest  being  made 
welcome,  they  were  invited  to  walk  in,  and  join 
in  the  general  festivity. 

Nothing  but  mirth  and  jollity  wras  going 
forward.  Tables  were  spread,  and  great  prep- 
arations were  making  for  the  rustic  feast. 
Some  lads  and  lasses  were  dancing  on  the 


A WINTER'S  TALE . * 133 

green  before  the  house,  while  others  of  the 
young  men  were  buying  ribbons,  gloves,  and 
such  toys,  of  a peddler  at  the  door. 

While  this  busy  scene  was  going  forward, 
Florizel  and  Perdita  sat  quietly  in  a retired 
corner,  seemingly  more  pleased  with  the  con- 
versation of  each  other  than  desirous  of  engag- 
ing in  the  sports  and  silly  amusments  of  those 
around  them. 

The  king  was  so  disguised  that  it  was  im- 
possible  his  son  could  know  him  ; he  therefore 
advanced  near  enough  to  hear  the  conversa- 
tion. The  simple  yet  elegant  manner  in  which 
Perdita  conversed  with  his  son  did  not  a little 
surprise  Polixenes  : he  said  to  Camillo,  “This 
is  the  prettiest  low-born  lass  I ever  saw ; 
nothing  she  does  or  says  but  looks  like  some- 
thing greater  than  herself,  too  noble  for  this 
place.” 

Camillo  replied,  “ Indeed  she  is  the  very 
queen  of  curds  and  cream.” 

“ Pray,  my  good  friend,”  said  the  king  to 
the  old  shepherd,  “ what  fair  swain  is  that 
talking  with  your  daughter  ? ” “ They  call  him 

Doricles,”  replied  the  shepherd.  “ Pie  says 
he  loves  my  daughter ; and  to  speak  truth, 
there  is  not  a kiss  to  choose  which  loves  the 
other  best.  If  young  Doricles  can  get  her, 
she  shall  bring  him  that  he  little  dreams  of  : ” 
meaning  the  remainder  of  Perdita’s  jewels  ; 
which,  after  he  had  bought  herds  of  sheep  with 
part  of  them,  he  had  carefully  hoarded  up  for 
her  marriage  portion. 


134 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


Polixenes  then  addressed  his  son.  “ How 
now,  young  man  ! ” said  he  : “ your  heart 

seems  full  of  something  that  takes  off  your 
mind  from  feasting.  When  I was  young,  I 
used  to  load  my  love  with  presents  ; but  you 
have  let  the  peddler  go,  and  have  bought  your 
lass  no  toy.” 

The  young  prince,  who  little  thought  he  was 
talking  to  the  king  his  father,  replied,  “ Old 
sir,  she  prizes  not  such  trifles ; the  gifts  which 
Perdita  expects  from  me  are  locked  up  in  my 
heart.”  Then  turning  to  Perdita,  he  said  to 
her,  “ Oh  hear  me,  Perdita,  before  this  ancient 
gentleman,  who  it  seems  was  once  himself  a 
lover  ; he  shall  hear  what  I profess.”  Florizel 
then  called  upon  the  old  stranger  to  be  a wit- 
ness to  a solemn  promise  of  marriage  which  he 
made  to  Perdita,  saying  to  Polixenes,  “ I pray 
you,  mark  our  contract.” 

u Mark  your  divorce,  young  sir,”  said  the 
king,  discovering  himself.  Polixenes  then 
reproached  his  son  for  daring  to  contract  him- 
self to  this  low-born  maiden,  calling  Perdita 
“ shepherd’s  brat,  sheep-hook,”  and  other  dis- 
respectful names  ; and  threatening,  if  ever  she 
suffered  his  son  to  see  her  again,  he  would  put 
her,  and  the  old  shepherd  her  father,  to  a 
cruel  death. 

The  king  then  left  them  in  great  wrath,  and 
ordered  Camillo  to  follow  him  with  prince 
Florizel. 

When  the  king  had  departed,  Perdita,  whose 
royal  nature  was  roused  by  Polixenes’  re- 


A WINTER'S  TALE . 


i3S 

proaches,  said,  “ Though  we  are  all  undone,  I 
was  not  much  afraid  ; and  once  or  twice  I was 
about  to  speak,  and  tell  him  plainly  that  the 
selfsame  sun  which  shines  upon  his  palace, 
hides  not  his  face  from  our  cottage,  but  looks 
on  both  alike.”  Then  sorrowfully  she  said, 
“ But  now  I am  awakened  from  this  dream,  I 
will  queen  it  no  farther.  Leave  me,  sir  ; I 
will  go  milk  my  ewes,  and  weep.” 

The  kind-hearted  Camillo  was  charmed  with 
the  spirit  and  propriety  of  Perdita’s  behavior ; 
and  perceiving  that  the  young  prince  was  too 
deeply  in  love  to  give  up  his  mistress  at  the 
command  of  his  royal  father,  he  thought  of  a 
way  to  befriend  the  lovers,  and  at  the  same 
time  to  execute  a favorable  scheme  he  had  in 
his  mind. 

Camillo  had  long  known  that  Leontes,  the 
king  of  Sicily,  was  become  a true  penitent ; 
and  though  Camillo  was  now  the  favored 
friend  of  king  Polixenes,  he  could  not  help 
wishing  once  more  to  see  his  late  royal  master 
and  his  native  home.  He  therefore  proposed 
to  Florizel  and  Perdita,  that  they  should  ac- 
company him  to  the  Sicilian  court,  where  he 
would  engage  Leontes  should  protect  them, 
till,  through  his  mediation,  they  could  obtain 
pardon  from  Polixenes,  and  his  consent  to 
their  marriage. 

To  this  proposal  they  joyfully  agreed  ; and 
Camillo,  who  conducted  everything  relative  to 
their  flight,  allowed  the  old  shepherd  to  go 
along  with  them. 


13 6 TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 

The  shepherd  took  with  him  the  remainder 
of  Perdita’s  jewels,  her  baby  clothes,  and  the 
paper  which  he  had  found  pinned  to  her 
mantle. 

After  a prosperous  voyage,  Florizel  and 
Perdita,  Camillo  and  the  old  shepherd,  arrived 
in  safety  at  the  court  of  Leontes.  Leontes, 
who  still  mourned  his  dead  Hermione  and  his 
lost  child,  received  Camillo  with  great  kindness, 
and  gave  a cordial  welcome  to  prince  Florizel. 
But  Perdita,  whom  Florizel  introduced  as  his 
princess,  seemed  to  engross  all  Leontes’  atten- 
tion : perceiving  a resemblance  between  her 
and  his  dead  queen  Hermione,  his  grief  broke 
out  afresh,  and  he  said,  such  a lovely  creature 
might  his  own  daughter  have  been,  if  he  had 
not  so  cruelly  destroyed  her.  44  And  then 
too,”  said  he  to  Florizel,  44 1 lost  the  society 
and  friendship  of  your  brave  father,  whom  I 
now  desire  more  than  my  life  once  again  to 
look  upon.” 

When  the  old  shepherd  heard  how  much 
notice  the  king  had  taken  of  Perdita,  and  that 
he  had  lost  a daughter,  who  was  exposed  in 
infancy,  he  fell  to  comparing  the  time  when  he 
found  the  little  Perdita,  with  flie  manner  of  its 
exposure,  the  jewels  and  other  tokens  of  its 
high  birth  ; from  all  which  it  was  impossible 
for  him  not  to  conclude,  that  Perdita  and  the 
king’s  lost  daughter  were  the  same. 

Florizel  and  Perdita,  Camillo  and  the  faith- 
ful Paulina,  were  present  when  the  old  shep- 
herd related  to  the  king  the  manner  in  which 


A WINTER'S  TALE. 


137 

he  had  found  the  child,  and  also  the  circum- 
stance of  Antigonus’  death,  he  having  seen 
the  bear  seize  upon  him.  He  showed  the  rich 
mantle  in  which  Paulina  remembered  Her- 
mione  had  wrapped  the  child ; and  he  pro- 
duced a jewel  which  she  remembered  Her- 
mione  had  tied  about  Perdita’s  neck ; and  he 
gave  up  the  paper  which  Paulina  knew  to  be 
the  writing  of  her  husband  ; it  could  not  be 
doubted  that  Perdita  was  Leontes’  own  daugh- 
ter : but  oh,  the  noble  struggles  of  Paulina, 
between  sorrow  for  her  husband’s  death,  and 
joy  that  the  oracle  was  fulfilled,  in  the  king’s 
heir,  his  long-lost  daughter,  being  found ! 
When  Leontes  heard  that  Perdita  was  his 
daughter,  the  great  sorrow  that  he  felt  that 
Hermione  was  not  living  to  behold  her  child, 
made  him  that  he  could  say  nothing  for  a long 
time,  but,  “ O thy  mother,  thy  mother ! ” 

Paulina  interrupted  this  joyful  yet  distress- 
ful scene,  with  saying  to  Leontes,  that  she  had 
a statue,  newly  finished  by  that  rare  Italian 
master,  Julio  Romano,  which  was  such  a per- 
fect resemblance  of  the  queen,  that  would  his 
majesty  be  pleased  to  go  to  her  house  and 
look  upon  it,  he  would  almost  be  ready  to 
think  it  was  Hermione  herself.  Thither  then 
they  all  went ; the  king  anxious  to  see  the 
semblance  of  his  Hermione,  and  Perdita  long- 
ing to  behold  what  the  mother  she  never  saw 
did  look  like. 

When  Paulina  drew  back  the  curtain  which 
concealed  this  famous  statue,  so  perfectly  did 


138  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 

it  resemble  Hermione,  that  all  the  king’s  sor- 
row was  renewed  at  the  sight : for  a long  time 
he  had  no  power  to  speak  or  move. 

“ I like  your  silence,  my  liege,”  said  Paulina ; 
“ it  the  more  shows  your  wonder.  Is  not  this 
statue  very  like  your  queen  ? ” 

At  length  the  king  said,  “ O,  thus  she  stood, 
even  with  such  majesty,  when  I first  wooed  her. 
But  yet,  Paulina,  Hermione  was  not  so  aged 
as  this  statue  looks.”  Paulina  replied,  “ So 
much  the  more  the  carver’s  excellence,  who 
has  made  the  statue  as  Hermione  would  have 
looked  had  she  been  living  now.  But  let  me 
draw  the  curtain,  sire,  lest  presently  you  think 
it  moves.” 

The  king  then  said,  “ Do  not  draw  the  cur- 
tain ! Would  I were  dead ! See,  Camillo, 
would  you  not  think  it  breathed  ? Her  eye 
seems  to  have  motion  in  it.”  “ I must  draw 
the  curtain,  my  liege,”  said  Paulina.  “ You 
are  so  transported,  you  will  persuade  yourself 
the  statue  lives.”  “ O sweet  Paulina,”  said 
Leontes,  “ make  me  think  so  twenty  years  to- 
gether ! Still  methinks  there  is  an  air  comes 
from  her.  What  fine  chisel  could  ever  yet 
cut  breath  ? Let  no  man  mock  me,  for  I will 
kiss  her.”  “ Good  my  lord,  forbear ! ” said 
Paulina.  “ The  ruddiness  upon  her  lips  is 
wet ; you  will  stain  your  own  with  oily  painting. 
Shall  I draw  the  curtain?”  “No,  not  these 
twenty  years,”  said  Leontes. 

Perdita,  who  all  this  time  had  been  kneeling, 
and  beholding  in  silent  admiration  the  statue 


A WINTER'S  TALE. 


*39 


of  her  matchless  mother,  said  now,  “ And  so 
long  could  I stay  here,  looking  upon  my  dear 
mother.’' 

“ Either  forbear  this  transport,”  said  Pauline 
to  Leontes,  “ and  let  me  draw  the  curtain  ; or 
prepare  yourself  for  more  amazement.  I can 
make  the  statue  move  indeed ; ay,  and  de- 
scend from  off  the  pedestal,  and  take  you  by 
the  hand.  But  then  you  will  think,  which  I 
protest  I am  not,  that  I am  assisted  by  some 
wicked  powers.” 

“ What  you  can  make  her  do,”  said  the 
astonished  king,  “ I am  content  to  look  upon. 
What  you  can  make  her  speak,  I am  content 
to  hear  ; for  it  is  as  easy  to  make  her  speak  as 
move.” 

Paulina  then  ordered  some  slow  and  solemn 
music,  which  she  had  prepared  for  the  purpose, 
to  strike  up  ; and  to  the  amazement  of  all  the 
beholders,  the  statue  came  down  from  off  the 
pedestal,  and  threw  its  arms  around  Leontes’ 
neck.  The  statue  then  began  to  speak,  pray- 
ing for  blessings  on  her  husband,  and  on  her 
child,  the  newly-found  Perdita. 

No  wonder  that  the  statue  hung  upon 
Leontes’  neck,  and  blessed  her  husband  and 
her  child.  No  wonder ; for  the  statue  was 
indeed  Hermione  herself,  the  real  and  living 
queen. 

Paulina  had  falsely  reported  to  the  king  the 
death  of  Hermione,  thinking  that  the  only 
means  to  preserve  her  royal  mistress’s  life  ; 
and  with  the  good  Paulina,  Hermione  had 


140 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


lived  ever  since,  never  choosing  Leontes  should 
know  she  was  living,  till  she  heard  Perdita  was 
found  ; for  though  she  had  long  forgiven  the  in- 
juries which  Leontes  had  done  to  herself,  she 
could  not  pardon  his  cruelty  to  his  infant 
daughter. 

His  dead  queen  thus  restored  to  life,  his 
lost  daughter  found,  the  long-sorrowing  Leontes 
could  scarcely  support  the  excess  of  his  own. 
happiness. 

Nothing  but  congratulations  and  affectionate 
speeches  were  heard  on  all  sides.  Now  the 
delighted  parents  thanked  prince  Florizel  for 
loving  their  lowly-seeming  daughter  ; and  now 
they  blessed  the  good  old  shepherd  for  preserv- 
ing their  child.  Greatly  did  Camillo  and  Paul- 
ina rejoice,  that  they  had  lived  to  see  so  good 
an  end  of  all  their  faithful  services. 

And  as  if  nothing  should  be  wanting  to  com- 
plete this  strange  and  unlooked-for  joy,  king 
Polixenes  himself  now  entered  the  palace. 

When  Polixenes  first  missed  his  son  and 
Camillo,  knowing  that  Camillo  had  longed 
wished  to  return  to  Sicily,  he  conjectured  he 
should  find  the  fugitives  here ; and,  following 
them  with  all  speed,  he  happened  to  arrive 
just  at  this,  the  happiest  moment  of  Leontes* 
life. 

Polixenes  took  a part  in  the  general  joy ; 
he  forgave  his  friend  Leontes  the  unjust  jeal- 
ousy he  had  conceived  against  him,  and  they 
once  more  loved  each  other  with  all  the  warmth 
of  their  first  boyish  friendship.  And  there  was 


A WINTER'S  TALE. 


141 

no  fear  that  Polixenes  would  now  oppose  his 
son’s  marriage  with  Perdita.  She  was  no 
“ sheep-hook  ” now,  but  the  heiress  of  the 
crown  of  Sicily. 

Thus  have  we  seen  the  patient  virtues  of  the 
long-suffering  Hermione  rewarded.  That  ex- 
cellent lady  lived  many  years  with  her  Leontes 
and  her  Perdita,  the  happiest  of  mothers  and 
of  queens. 


ALL’S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


Bertram,  count  of  Rossilion,  had  newly 
come  to  his  title  and  estate  by  the  death  of  his 
father.  The  king  of  France  loved  the  father 
of  Bertram,  and  when  he  heard  of  his  death 
he  sent  for  his  son  to  come  immediately  to  his 
royal  court  in  Paris  ; intending,  for  the  friend- 
ship he  bore  the  late  count,  to  grace  young 
Bertram  with  his  especial  favor  and  protec- 
tion. 

Bertram  was  living  with  his  mother,  the 
widowed  countess,  when  Lafeu,  an  old  lord  of 
the  French  court,  came  to  conduct  Bertram  to 
the  king.  The  king  of  France  was  an  absolute 
monarch,  and  the  invitation  to  court  was  in 
the  form  of  a royal  mandate,  or  positive  com- 
mand, which  no  subject,  of  what  high  dignity 
soever,  might  disobey  ; therefore  though  the 
countess  in  parting  with  this  dear  son  seemed 
a second  time  to  bury  her  husband,  whose  loss 
she  had  so  lately  mourned,  yet  she  dared  not 
keep  him  a single  day,  but  gave  instant  orders 
for  his  departure.  Lafeu,  who  came  to  fetch 
him,  tried  to  comfort  the  countess  for  the  loss 
of  her  late  lord  and  her  son’s  absence  ; and  he 
said,  in  a courtier’s  flattering  manner,  that  the 
king  was  so  kind  a prince  she  would  find  in 
142 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  EJVBS  WELL . 143 

his  majesty  a husband,  and  that  he  would  be 
a father  to  her  son ; meaning  only,  that  the 
good  king  would  befriend  the  fortunes  of 
Bertram.  Lafeu  told  the  countess  that  the 
king  had  fallen  into  a sad  malady,  which 
was  pronounced  by  his  physicans  to  be  in- 
curable. The  lady  expressed  great  sorrow 
on  hearing  this  account  of  the  king’s  ill  health, 
and  said  she  wished  the  father  of  Helena  (a 
young  gentlewoman  who  was  present  in  attend- 
ance upon  her)  were  living,  for  that  she  doubted 
not  he  could  have  cured  his  majesty  of  his 
disease.  And  she  told  Lafeu  something  of  the 
history  of  Helena,  saying  she  was  the  only 
daughter  of  the  famous  physician  Gerard  de 
Narbon,  and  that  he  had  recommended  his 
daughter  to  her  care  when  he  was  dying,  so 
that,  since  his  death,  she  had  taken  Helena 
under  her  protection ; then  the  countess  praised 
the  virtuous  disposition  and  excellent  qualities 
of  Helena,  saying  she  inherited  these  virtues 
from  her  worthy  father.  While  she  was  speak- 
ing, Helena  wept  in  sad  and  mournful  silence, 
which  made  the  countess  gently  reprove  her 
for  too  much  grieving  for  her  father’s  death. 

Bertram  now  bade  his  mother  farewell.  The 
countess  parted  with  this  dear  son  with  tears 
and  many  blessings,  and  commended  him  to 
the  care  of  Lafeu,  saying,  “ Good  my  lord,  ad- 
vise him,  for  he  is  an  unseasoned  courtier.” 

Bertram’s  last  words  were  spoken  to  Helena, 
but  they  were  words  of  mere  civility,  wishing 
her  happiness ; and  he  concluded  his  short 


144 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


farewell  to  her  with  saying,  “ Be  comfortable 
to  my  mother,  your  mistress,  and  make  much 
of  her.” 

Helena  had  long  loved  Bertram,  and  when 
she  wept  in  sad  and  mournful  silence,  the  tears 
she  shed  were  not  for  Gerard  de  Narbon. 
Helena  loved  her  father,  but  in  the  present 
feeling  of  a deeper  love,  the  object  of  which 
she  was  about  to  lose,  she  had  forgotten  the 
very  form  and  features  of  her  dead  father, 
her  imagination  presenting  no  image  to  her 
mind  but  Bertram’s. 

Helena  had  long  loved  Bertram,  yet  she  al- 
ways remembered  that  he  was  the  count  of 
Rossilion,  descended  from  the  most  ancient 
family  in  Paris.  She  of  humble  birth.  Her 
parents  of  no  note  at  all.  His  ancestors  all 
noble.  And  therefore  she  looked  up  to  the 
highborn  Bertram  as  to  her  master  and  to  her 
dear  lord,  and  dared  not  form  any  wish  but  to 
live  his  servant,  and  so  living  to  die  his  vassal. 
So  great  the  distance  seemed  to  her  between 
his  height  of  dignity  and  her  lowly  fortunes, 
that  she  would  say,  “ It  were  all  one  that  I 
should  love  a bright  peculiar  star,  and  think 
to  wed  it,  Bertram  is  so  far  above  me.” 

Bertram’s  absence  filled  her  eyes  with  tears, 
and  her  heart  with  sorrow ; for  though  she 
loved  without  hope,  yet  it  was  a pretty  comfort 
to  her  to  see  him  every  hour,  and  Helena  would 
sit  and  look  upon  his  dark  eye,  his  arched 
brow,  and  the  curls  of  his  fine  hair,  till  she 
seemed  to  draw  his  portrait  on  the  tablet  of 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.  145 

her  heart,  that  heart  too  capable  of  retaining 
the  memory  of  every  line  in  the  features  of 
that  loved  face. 

Gerard  de  Narbon,  when  he  died,  left  her  no 
other  portion  than  some  prescriptions  of  rare 
and  well  proved  virtue,  which  by  deep  study 
and  long  experience  in  medicine  he  had  cob 
lected  as  sovereign  and  almost  infallible  reme- 
dies. Among  the  rest,  there  was  one  set  down 
as  an  improved  medicine  for  the  disease  under 
which  Lafeu  said  the  king  at  that  time  lan- 
guished ; and  when  Helena  heard  of  the  king’s 
complaint  she,  who  till  now  had  been  so  hum- 
ble and  so  hopeless,  formed  an  ambitious  pro- 
ject in  her  mind  to  go  herself  to  Paris,  and  un- 
dertake the  cure  of  the  king.  But  though 
Helena  was  the  possessor  of  this  choice  pre- 
scription, it  was  unlikely,  as  the  king  as  well 
as  his  physicians  were  of  opinion  that  his  dis- 
ease was  incurable,  that  they  would  give  credit 
to  a poor  unlearned  virgin  if  she  should  offer 
to  perform  a cure.  The  firm  hopes  that 
Helena  had  of  succeeding,  if  she  might  be 
permitted  to  make  the  trial,  seemed  more  than 
even  her  father’s  skill  warranted,  though  he 
was  the  most  famous  physician  of  his  time 
for  she  felt  a strong  faith  that  this  good  medi- 
cine was  sanctified  by  all  the  luckiest  stars  in 
heaven  to  be  the  legacy  that  should  advance 
her  fortune,  even  to  the  high  dignity  of  being 
count  Rossilion’s  wife. 

Bertram  had  not  been  long  gone,  when  the 
countess  was  informed  by  her  steward  that  he 
10 


146  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 

had  overheard  Helena  talking  to  herself,  and 
that  he  understood,  from  some  words  she 
uttered,  she  was  in  love  with  Bertram,  and 
had  thought  of  following  him  to  Paris.  The 
countess  dismissed  the  steward  with  thanks, 
and  desired  him  to  tell  Helena  she  wished  to 
speak  with  her.  What  she  had  just  heard  of 
Helena  brought  the  remembrance  of  days  long 
past  into  the  mind  of  the  countess  ; those  days 
probably  when  her  love  for  Bertram’s  father 
first  began  ■ and  she  said  to  herself,  “ Even  so 
it  was  with  me  when  I was  young.  Love  is  a 
thorn  that  belongs  to  the  rose  of  youth  ; for 
in  the  season  of  youth,  if  ever  we  are  nature’s 
children,  these  faults  are  ours,  though  then  we 
think  not  they  are  faults.”  While  the  coun- 
tess was  thus  meditating  on  the  loving  errors 
of  her  own  youth,  Helena  entered,  and  she 
said  to  her,  “ Helena,  you  know  I am  a mother 
to  you.”  Helena  replied,  “ You  are  my  honor- 
able mistress.”  “You  are  my  daughter,”  said 
the  countess  again  : “ I say  I am  your  mother. 
Why  do  you  start  and  look  pale  at  my  words  ? ” 
With  looks  of  alarm  and  confused  thoughts, 
fearing  the  countess  suspected  her  love,  Helena 
still  replied,  “ Pardon  me,  madam,  you  are  not 
my  mother  ; the  count  Rossilion  cannot  be 
my  brother,  nor  I your  daughter.”  “ Yet, 
Helena,”  said  the  countess,  “ you  might  be 
my  daughter-in-law ; and  I am  afraid  that  is 
what  you  mean  to  be,  the  words  mother  and 
daughter  so  disturb  you.  Helena,  do  you  love 
my  son  ? ” “ Good  madam,  pardon  me,”  said 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL . 147 

the  affrighted  Helena.  Again  the  countess 
repeated  her  question.  “ Do  you  love  my 
son  ? ” “ Do  not  you  love  him,  madam  ? ” 

said  Helena.  The  countess  replied,  “ Give 
me  not  this  evasive  answer,  Helena.  Come, 
come,  disclose  the  state  of  your  affections,  for 
your  love  has  to  the  full  appeared.”  Helena 
on  her  knees  now  owned  her  love,  and  with 
shame  and  terror  implored  the  pardon  of  her 
noble  mistress  : and  with  words  expressive  of 
the  sense  she  had  of  the  inequality  between 
their  fortunes,  she  protested  Bertram  did  not 
know  she  loved  him,  comparing  her  humble 
unaspiring  love  to  a poor  Indian,  who  adores 
the  sun,  that  looks  upon  his  worshiper,  but 
knows  of  him  no  more.  The  countess  asked 
Helena  if  she  had  not  lately  an  intent  to  go  to 
Paris  ? Helena  owned  the  design  she  had 
formed  in  her  mind,  when  she  heard  Lafeu 
speak  of  the  king’s  illness.  “ This  was  your 
motive  for  wishing  to  go  to  Paris,”  said  the 
countess,  “ was  it  ? Speak  truly.”  Helena 
honestly  answered,  “ My  lord  your  son  made 
me  think  of  this;  else  Paris,  and  the  medicine, 
and  the  king,  had  from  the  conversation  of  my 
thoughts  been  absent  then.”  The  countess 
heard  the  whole  of  this  confession  without 
saying  a word  either  of  approval  or  of  blame, 
but  she  strictly  questioned  Helena  as  to  the 
probability  of  the  medicine  being  useful  to  the 
king.  She  found  that  it  was  the  most  prized 
by  Gerard  de  Narbon  of  all  he  possessed,  and 
that  he  had  given  it  to  his  daughter  on  his 


148  tales  from  shakspeare . 


death-bed ; and  remembering  the  solemn 
promise  she  had  made  at  that  awful  hour  in 
regard  to  this  young  maid,  whose  destiny,  and 
the  life  of  the  king  himself,  seemed  to  depend 
on  the  execution  of  a project  (which  though 
conceived  by  the  fond  suggestions  of  a loving 
maiden’s  thoughts,  the  countess  knew  not  but 
it  might  be  the  unseen  workings  of  Providence 
to  bring  to  pass  the  recovery  of  the  king,  and 
to  lay  the  foundation  of  the  future  fortunes  of 
Gerard  de  Narbon’s  daughter),  free  leave  she 
gave  to  Helena  to  pursue  her  own  way,  and 
generously  furnished  her  with  ample  means 
and  suitable  attendants ; and  Helena  set  out 
for  Paris  with  the  blessings  of  the  countess, 
and  her  kindest  wishes  for  her  success. 

Helena  arrived  at  Paris,  and  by  the  assist- 
ance of  her  friend,  the  old  Lord  Lafeu,  ob- 
tained an  audience  of  the  king.  She  had 
still  many  difficulties  to  encounter,  for  the 
king  was  not  easily  prevailed  on  to  try  the 
medicine  offered  him  by  this  fair  young  doctor. 
But  she  told  him  she  was  Gerard  de  Narbon’s 
daughter  (with  whose  fame  the  king  was  well 
acquainted),  and  she  offered  the  precious 
medicine  as  the  darling  treasure  which  con- 
tained the  essence  of  all  her  father’s  long  ex- 
perience and  skill,  and  she  boldly  engaged  to 
forfeit  her  life  if  it  failed  to  restore  his  majesty 
to  perfect  health  in  the  space  of  two  days. 
The  king  at  length  consented  to  try  it,  and  in 
two  days’  time  Helena  was  to  lose  her  life  if 
the  king  did  not  recover  ; but  if  she  succeeded, 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL . 149 

he  promised  to  give  her  the  choice  of  any  man 
throughout  all  France  (the  princes  only  ex- 
cepted) whom  she  could  like  for  a husband ; 
the  choice  of  a husband  being  the  fee  Helena 
demanded,  if  she  cured  the  king  of  his  disease. 

Helena  did  not  deceive  herself  in  the  hope 
she  conceived  of  the  efficacy  of  her  father’s 
medicine.  Before  two  days  were  at  an  end, 
the  king  was  restored  to  perfect  health,  and 
he  assembled  all  the  young  noblemen  of  his 
court  together,  in  order  to  confer  the  promised 
reward  of  a husband  on  his  fair  physician ; 
and  he  desired  Helena  to  look  round  on  this 
youthful  parcel  of  noble  bachelors,  and  choose 
her  husband.  Helena  was  not  slow  to  make 
her  choice,  for  among  these  young  lords  she 
saw  the  count  Rossilion,  and  turning  to  Ber- 
tram she  said,  “ This  is  the  man.  I dare  not 
say,  my  lord,  I take  you,  but  I give  me  and 
my  service  ever  whilst  I live,  into  your  guiding 
power.”  “ Why  then,”  said  the  king,  “ young 
Bertram  take  her  ; she  is  your  wife.”  Ber- 
tram did  not  hesitate  to  declare  his  dislike  to 
this  present  of  the  king’s  of  the  self-offered 
Helena,  who,  he  said,  was  a poor  physician’s 
daughter,  bred  at  his  father’s  charge,  and  now 
living  a dependent  on  his  mother’s  bounty. 
Helena  heard  him  speak  these  words  of  re- 
jection and  of  scorn,  and  she  said  to  the  king, 
“ That  you  are  well,  my  lord,  I am  glad.  Let 
the  rest  go.”  But  the  king  would  not  suffer 
his  royal  command  to  be  so  slighted  ; for  the 
power  of  bestowing  their  nobles  in  marriage 


150  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEAR 

was  one  of  the  many  privileges  of  the  kings 
of  France  ; and  that  same  day  Bertram  was 
married  to  Helena,  a forced  and  uneasy  mar- 
riage to  Bertram,  and  of  no  promising  hope  to 
the  poor  lady,  who,  though  she  gained  the 
noble  husband  she  had  hazarded  her  life  to 
obtain,  seemed  to  have  won  but  a splendid 
blank,  her  husband’s  love  not  being  a gift  in 
the  power  of  the  king  of  France  to  bestow. 

Helena  was  no  sooner  married,  than  she 
was  desired  by  Bertram  to  apply  to  the  king 
for  him  for  leave  of  absence  from  court ; and 
when  she  brought  him  the  king’s^permission  for 
his  departure,  Bertram  told  her  that  as  he  was 
not  prepared  for  this  sudden  marriage,  it  had 
much  unsettled  him,  and  therefore  she  must 
not  wonder  at  the  course  he  should  pursue. 
If  Helena  wondered  not,  she  grieved  when 
she  found  it  was  his  intention  to  leave  her. 
He  ordered  her  to  go  home  to  his  mother. 
When  Helena  heard  this  unkind  command, 
she  replied,  “ Sir,  I can  say  nothing  to  this, 
but  that  I am  your  most  obedient  servant 
and  shall  ever  with  true  observance  seek  to 
eke  out  that  desert,  wherein  my  homely  stars 
have  failed  to  equal  my  great  fortunes.”  But 
this  humble  speech  of  Helena’s  did  not  at  all 
move  the  haughty  Bertram  to  pity  his  gentle 
wife,  and  he  parted  from  her  without  the 
common  civility  of  a kind  farewell. 

Back  to  the  countess  then  Helena  returned. 
She  had  accomplished  the  purport  of  her 
journey,  she  had  preserved  the  life  of  the 


ALLS  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.  15 1 


king,  and  she  had  wedded  her  heart’s  dear 
lord,  the  count  Rossilion ; but  she  returned 
back  a dejected  lady  to  her  noble  mother-in- 
law,  and  as  soon  as  she  entered  the  house  she 
received  a letter  from  Bertram  which  almost 
broke  her  heart. 

The  good  countess  received  her  with  a cordial 
welcome,  as  if  she  had  been  her  son’s  own 
choice,  and  a lady  of  high  degree,  and  she 
spoke  kind  words,  to  comfort  her  for  the  unkind 
neglect  of  Bertram  in  sending  his  wife  home 
on  her  bridal  day  alone.  But  this  gracious 
reception  failed  to  cheer  the  sad  mind  of  Hel- 
ena, and  she  said,  “ Madam,  my  lord  is  gone, 
forever  gone.”  She  then  read  these  words 
out  of  Bertram’s  letter  : When  you  can  get  the 

ring  from  my  finger  which  never  shall  come  off, 
then  call  me  husband , but  in  such  a Then  I write 
a Never . “ This  is  a dreadful  sentence,”  said 

Helena.  The  countess  begged  her  to  have 
patience,  and  said,  now  Bertram  was  gone,  she 
should  be  her  child,  and  that  she  deserved  a 
lord  that  twenty  such  rude  boys  as  Bertram 
might  tend  upon,  and  hourly  call  her  mistress. 
But  in  vain  by  respectful  condescension  and 
kind  flattery  this  matchless  mother  tried  to 
soothe  the  sorrows  of  her  daughter-in-law. 
Helena  still  kept  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  letter 
and  cried  out  in  an  agony  of  grief,  Till  I have 
no  wife,  I have  nothing  in  France.  The  coun- 
tess asked  her  if  she  found  those  words  in  the 
letter?  “ Yes,  madam,”  was  all  poor  Helena 
could  answer. 


152  TALES  FROM  SHARSPEARE. 

The  next  morning  Helena  was  missing.  She 
left  a letter  to  be  delivered  to  the  countess 
after  she  was  gone,  to  acquaint  her  with  the 
reason  of  har  sudden  absence  ; in  this  letter 
she  informed  her  that  she  was  so  much  grieved 
at  having  driven  Bertram  from  his  native 
country  and  his  home,  that,  to  atone  for  her 
offence,  she  had  undertaken  a pilgrimage  to 
the  shrine  of  St.  Jaques  le  Grand,  and  con- 
cluded with  requesting  the  countess  to  inform 
her  son,  that  the  wife  he  so  hated  had  left  his 
house  forever. 

Bertram,  when  he  left  Paris,  went  to  Flor- 
ence, and  there  became  an  officer  in  the  Duke 
of  Florence’s  army,  and  after  a successful  war, 
in  which  he  distinguished  himself  by  many 
brave  actions,  Bertram  received  letters  from 
his  mother,  containing  the  acceptable  tidings 
that  Helena  would  no  more  disturb  him  ; and 
he  was  preparing  to  return  home  when  Helena 
herself,  clad  in  pilgrim’s  weeds,  arrived  at  the 
city  of  Florence. 

Florence  was  a city  through  which  the  pil- 
grims used  to  pass  on  their  way  to  St.  Jaques 
le  Grand  ; and  when  Helena  arrived  at  this 
city,  she  heard  that  a hospitable  widow  dwelt 
there,  who  used  to  receive  into  her  house  the 
female  pilgrims  that  were  going  to  visit  the 
shrine  of  that  saint,  giving  them  lodging  and 
kind  entertainment.  To  this  good  lady  there- 
fore Helena  went,  and  the  widow  gave  her  a 
courteous  welcome,  and  invited  her  to  see 
whatever  was  curious  in  that  famous  city,  and 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL . 153 

told  her  that  if  she  would  like  to  see  the  duke’s 
army,  she  would  take  her  where  she  might 
have  a full  view  of  it.  “ And  you  will  see  a 
countryman  of  yours,”  said  the  widow  ; “ his 
name  is  count  Rossilion,  who  has  done  worthy 
service  in  the  duke’s  wars.”  Helena  wanted 
no  second  invitation,  when  she  found  Bertram 
was  to  make  a part  of  the  show.  She  accom- 
panied her  hostess  ; and  a sad  and  mournful 
pleasure  it  was  to  her  to  look  once  more  upon 
her  dear  husband’s  face.  “ Is  he  not  a hand- 
some man  ? ” said  the  widow.  “ I like  him 
well,”  replied  Helena  with  great  truth.  All 
the  way  they  walked,  the  talkative  widow’s 
discourse  was  all  of  Bertram ; she  told  Helena 
the  story  of  Bertram’s  marriage,  and  how  he 
had  deserted  the  poor  lady  his  wife,  and  en- 
tered into  the  duke’s  army  to  avoid  living  with 
her.  To  this  account  of  her  own  misfortunes 
Helena  patiently  listened,  and  when  it  was 
ended,  the  history  of  Bertram  was  not  yet 
done,  for  then  the  widow  began  another  tale 
every  word  of  which  sank  deep  into  the  mind 
of  Helena ; for  the  story  she  now  told  was  of 
Bertram’s  love  for  her  daughter. 

Though  Bertram  did  not  like  the  marriage 
forced  on  him  by  the  king,  it  seems  he  was 
not  insensible  to  love,  for  since  he  had  been 
stationed  with  the  army  at  Florence,  he  had 
fallen  in  love  with  Diana,  a fair  young  gentle- 
woman, the  daughter  of  this  widow  who  was 
Helena’s  hostess  ; and  every  night,  with  music 
of  all  sorts,  and  songs  composed  in  praise  of 


154  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 

Diana’s  beauty,  he  would  come  under  her 
window  and  solicit  her  love  ; and  all  his  suit 
to  her  was,  that  she  would  permit  him  to  visit 
her  by  stealth  after  the  family  were  retired  to 
rest ; but  Diana  would  by  no  means  be  per- 
suaded to  grant  this  improper  request,  nor  give 
any  encouragement  to  his  suit,  knowing  him 
to  be  a married  man  ; for  Diana  had  been 
brought  up  under  the  counsels  of  a prudent 
mother,  who  though  she  was  now  in  reduced 
circumstances,  was  well-born,  and  descended 
from  the  noble  family  of  the  Capulets. 

All  this  the  good  lady  related  to  Helena, 
highly  praising  the  virtuous  principles  of  her 
discreet  daughter,  which  she  said  were  entirely 
owing  to  the  excellent  education  and  good  ad- 
vice she  had  given  her  ; and  she  farther  said,  that 
Bertram  had  been  particularly  importunate 
with  Diana  to  admit  him  to  the  visit  he  so 
much  desired  that  night,  because  he  was  going 
to  leave  Florence  early  next  morning. 

Though  it  grieved  Helena  to  hear  of  Ber- 
tram’s love  for  the  widow’s  daughter,  yet  from 
this  story  the  ardent  mind  of  Helena  conceived 
a project  (nothing  discouraged  at  the  ill  success 
of  her  former  one)  to  recover  her  truant  lord. 
She  disclosed  to  the  widow  that  she  was 
Helena,  the  deserted  wife  of  Bertram,  and 
requested  that  her  kind  hostess  and  her 
daughter  would  suffer  this  visit  from  Bertram 
to  take  place,  and  allow  her  to  pass  herself 
upon  Bertram  for  Diana  ; telling  them,  her  chief 
motive  for  desiring  to  have  this  secret  meeting 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL . 155 

with  her  husband,  was  to  get  a ring  from  him, 
which  he  had  said,  if  ever  she  was  in  posses- 
sion of,  he  would  acknowledge  her  as  his  wife. 

The  widow  and  her  daughter  promised  to 
assist  her  in  this  affair,  partly  moved  by  pity 
for  this  unhappy  forsaken  wife,  and  partly  won 
over  to  her  interest  by  the  promises  of  reward 
which  Helena  made  them,  giving  them  a purse 
of  money  in  earnest  of  her  future  favor.  In 
the  course  of  that  day  Helena  caused  informa- 
tion to  be  sent  to  Bertram  that  she  was  dead 
hoping  that  when  he  thought  himself  free  to 
make  a second  choice  by  the  news  of  her 
death,  he  would  offer  marriage  to  her  in  her 
feigned  character  of  Diana.  And  if  she  could 
obtain  the  ring  and  this  promise  too,  she 
doubted  not  she  should  make  some  future  good 
come  of  it. 

In  the  evening,  after  it  was  dark,  Bertram 
was  admitted  into  Diana’s  chamber,  and  Hel- 
ena was  there  ready  to  receive  him.  The 
flattering  compliments  and  love-discourse  he 
addressed  to  Helena  were  precious  sounds  to 
her,  though  she  knew  they  were  meant  for 
Diana,  and  Bertram  was  so  well  pleased  with 
her,  that  he  made  her  a solemn  promise  to  be 
her  husband,  and  to  love  her  forever ; which 
she  hoped  would  be  prophetic  of  a real 
affection,  when  he  should  know  it  was  his  own 
wife,  the  despised  Helena,  whose  conversation 
had  so  delighted  him. 

Bertram  never  knew  how  sensible  a lady 
Helena  was,  else  perhaps  he  would  not  have 


156  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE, 


been  so  regardless  of  her ; and  seeing  her 
every  day,  he  had  entirely  overlooked  her 
beauty  ; a face  we  are  accustomed  to  see  con- 
stantly, losing  the  effect  which  is  caused  by  the 
first  sight  either  of  beauty  or  of  plainness  ; and 
of  her  understanding  it  was  impossible  he 
should  judge,  because  she  felt  such  reverence, 
mixed  with  her  love  for  him,  that  she  was 
always  silent  in  his  presence ; but  now  that 
her  future  fate,  and  the  happy  ending  of  all 
her  love-projects,  seemed  to  depend  on  her 
leaving  a favorable  impression  on  the  mind  of 
Bertram  from  this  night’s  interview,  she  exerted 
all  her  wit  to  please  him ; and  the  simple 
graces  of  her  lively  conversation  and  the  en- 
dearing sweetness  of  her  manner  so  charmed 
Bertram,  that  he  vowed  she  should  be  his  wife. 
Helena  begged  the  ring  from  off  his  finger  as 
a token  of  his  regard,  and  he  gave  it  to  her ; 
and  in  return  for  this  ring,  which  it  was  of 
such  importance  to  her  to  possess,  she  gave 
him  another  ring,  which  was  one  the  king  had 
made  her  a present  of.  Before  it  was  light  in 
the  morning,  she  sent  Bertram  away  ; and  he 
immediately  set  out  on  his  journey  towards 
his  mother’s  house. 

Helena  prevailed  on  the  widow  and  Diana 
to  accompany  her  to  Paris,  their  farther  assist- 
ance being  necessary  to  the  full  accomplish- 
ment of  the  plan  she  had  formed.  When  they 
arrived  there,  they  found  the  king  was  gone 
upon  a visit  to  the  countess  of  Rossilion,  and 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.  157 


Helena  followed  the  king  with  all  the  speed 
she  could  make. 

The  king  was  still  in  perfect  health,  and  his 
gratitude  to  her  who  had  been  the  means  of 
his  recovery  was  so  lively  in  his  mind,  that  the 
moment  he  saw  the  countess  of  Rossilion  he 
began  to  talk  of  Helena,  calling  her  a precious 
jewel  that  was  lost  by  the  folly  of  her  son  ; but 
seeing  the  subject  distressed  the  countess,  who 
sincerely  lamented  the  death  of  Helena,  he 
said,  “ My  good  lady,  I have  forgiven  and  for- 
gotten all.”  But  the  good-natured  old  Lafeu, 
who  was  present,  and  could  not  bear  that  the 
memory  of  his  favorite  Helena  should  be  so 
lightly  passed  over,  said,  “ This  I must  say, 
the  young  lord  did  great  offence  to  his  majesty, 
his  mother,  and  his  lady  ; but  to  himself  he  did 
the  greatest  wrong  of  all,  for  he  has  lost  a 
wife  whose  beauty  astonished  all  eyes,  whose 
words  took  all  ears  captive,  whose  deep  per- 
fection made  all  hearts  wish  to  serve  her.” 
The  king  said,  “ Praising  what  is  lost  makes  the 
remembrance  dear.  Well — call  him  hither  ; ” 
meaning  Bertram,  who  now  presented  himself 
before  the  king  : and,  on  his  expressing  deep 
sorrow  for  the  injuries  he  had  done  to  Helena, 
the  king,  for  his  dead  father’s  and  his  admira- 
ble mother’s  sake,  pardoned  him  and  restored 
him  once  more  to  his  favor.  But  the  gracious 
countenance  of  the  king  was  soon  changed 
towards  him,  for  he  perceived  that  Bertram 
wore  the  very  ring  upon  his  finger  which  he  had 
given  to  Helena  ; and  he  well  remembered  that 


158  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 

Helena  had  called  all  the  saints  in  heaven  to 
witness  she  would  never  part  with  that  ring, 
unless  she  sent  it  to  the  king  himself  upon 
some  great  disaster  befalling  her ; and 
Bertram,  on  the  king’s  questioning  him  how 
he  came  by  the  ring,  told  an  improbable  story 
of  a lady  throwing  it  to  him  out  of  a window, 
and  denied  ever  having  seen  Helena  since  the 
day  of  their  marriage.  The  king,  knowing 
Bertram’s  dislike  to  his  wife,  feared  he  had  de- 
stroyed her  ; and  he  ordered  his  guards  to  seize 
Bertram,  saying,  44 1 am  wrapped  in  dismal 
thinking,  for  I fear  the  life  of  Helena  was 
foully  snatched.”  At  this  moment  Diana  and 
her  mother  entered,  and  presented  a petition 
to  the  king,  wherein  they  begged  his  majesty 
to  exert  his  royal  power  to  compel  Bertram  to 
marry  Diana,  he  having  made  her  a solemn 
promise  of  marriage.  Bertram,  fearing  the 
king’s  anger,  denied  he  had  made  any  such 
promise  ; and  then  Diana  produced  the  ring 
(which  Helena  had  put  into  her  hands)  to 
confirm  the  truth  of  her  words ; and  she  said 
that  she  had  given  Bertram  the  ring  he  then 
wore,  in  exchange  for  that,  at  the  time  he 
vowed  to  marry  her.  On  hearing  this  the  king 
ordered  the  guards  to  seize  her  also  ; and  her 
account  of  the  ring  differing  from  Bertram’s 
the  king’s  suspicions  were  confirmed,  and  he 
said,  if  they  did  not  confess  how  they  came 
by  this  ring  of  Helena’s,  they  should  be  both 
put  to  death.  Diana  requested  her  mother 
might  be  permitted  to  fetch  the  jeweler  of 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.  159 

whom  she  bought  the  ring,  which,  being 
granted,  the  widow  went  out,  and  presently 
returned  leading  in  Helena  herself. 

The  good  countess,  who  in  silent  grief  had 
beheld  her  son’s  danger,  and  had  even  dreaded 
that  the  suspicion  of  his  having  destroyed  his 
wife  might  possibly  be  true,  finding  her  dear 
Helena,  whom  she  loved  with  even  a maternal 
affection,  was  still  living,  felt  a delight  she  was 
hardly  able  to  support  ; and  the  king,  scarce 
believing  for  joy  that  it  was  Helena,  said,  “ Is 
this  indeed  the  wife  of  Bertram  that  I see  ? ” 
Helena,  feeling  herself  yet  an  unacknowledged 
wife,  replied,  “ No,  my  good  lord,  it  is  but  the 
shadow  of  a wife  you  see,  the  name  and  not  the 
thing.”  Bertram  cried  out,  “ Both,  both  ! O 
pardon  ! ” “ O my  lord,”  said  Helena,  “ when 

I personated  this  fair  maid,  I found  you 
wondrous  kind ; and  look,  here  is  your 
letter  ! ” reading  to  him  in  a joyful  tone  those 
words  which  she  had  once  repeated  so  sorrow- 
fully, When  fro7n  my  finger  you  can  get  this 
ring — “ This  is  none,  it  was  to  me  you  gave 
the  ring.  Will  you  be  mine,  now  you  are 
doubly  won  ? ” Bertram  replied,  “ If  you  can 
make  it  plain  that  you  were  the  lady  I talked 
with  that  night,  I will  love  you  dearly,  ever,  ever 
dearly.”  This  was  no  difficult  task,  for  the 
widow  and  Diana  came  with  Helena  purposely 
to  prove  this  fact ; and  the  king  was  so  well 
pleased  with  Diana,  for  the  friendly  assistance 
she  had  rendered  the  dear  lady  he  so  truly 
valued  for  the  service  she  had  done  him,  that 


160  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


he  promised  her  also  a noble  husband  : Hel- 
ena’s history  giving  him  a hint,  that  it  was  a 
suitable  reward  for  kings  to  bestow  upon  fair 
ladies  when  they  perform  notable  services. 

Thus  Helena  at  last  found  that  her  father’s 
legacy  was  indeed  sanctified  by  the  luckiest 
stars  in  heaven ; for  she  was  now  the  beloved 
wife  of  her  dear  Bertram,  the  daughter-in-law 
of  her  noble  mistress,  and  herself  the  countess 
of  Rossilion. 


THE  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 


There  lived  in  the  city  of  Verona  two 
young  gentlemen,  whose  names  were  Valentine 
and  Protheus,  between  whom  a firm  and  unin- 
terrupted friendship  had  long  subsisted.  They 
pursued  their  studies  together,  and  their  hours 
of  leisure  were  always  passed  in  each  other’s 
company,  except  when  Protheus  visited  a lady 
he  was  in  love  with  ; and  these  visits  to  his 
mistress,  and  this  passion  of  Protheus  for  the 
fair  Julia,  were  the  only  topics  on  which  these 
two  friends  disagreed  : for  Valentine,  not 
being  himself  a lover,  was  sometimes  a little 
weary  of  hearing  his  friend  forever  talking  of 
his  Julia,  and  then  he  would  laugh  at  Protheus, 
and  in  pleasant  terms  ridicule  the  passion  of 
love,  and  declare  that  no  such  idle  fancies 
should  ever  enter  his  head,  greatly  preferring 
(as  he  said)  the  free  and  happy  life  that  he 
led,  to  the  anxious  hopes  and  fears  of  the 
lover  Protheus. 

One  morning  Valentine  came  to  Protheus 
to  tell  him  that  they  must  for  a time  be  sepa- 
rated, for  that  he  was  going  to  Milan.  Pro- 
theus, unwilling  to  part  with  his  friend,  used 
many  arguments  to  prevail  upon  Valentine 
not  to  leave  him  ; but  Valentine  said,  “ Cease 
to  persuade  me,  my  loving  Protheus.  I will 
ii  161 


162  tales  from  shakspeare. 

not,  like  a sluggard,  wear  out  my  youth  in 
idleness  at  home.  Home-keeping  youths  have 
ever  homely  wits.  If  your  affection  were  not 
chained  to  the  sweet  glances  of  your  honored 
Julia,  I would  entreat  you  to  accompany  me, 
to  see  the  wonders  of  the  world  abroad , but 
since  you  are  a lover,  love  on  still,  and  may 
your  love  be  prosperous  ! ” 

They  parted  with  mutual  expressions  of 
unalterable  friendship.  “ Sweet  Valentine, 
adieu  ! ” said  Protheus  ; “ think  on  me,  when 
you  see  some  rare  object  worthy  of  notice  in 
your  travels,  and  wish  me  partaker  of  your 
happiness.” 

Valentine  began  his  journey  that  same  day 
towards  Milan  : and  when  his  friend  had  left 
him,  Protheus  sat  down  to  write  a letter  to 
Julia,  which  he  gave  to  her  maid  Lucetta  to 
deliver  to  her  mistress, 

Julia  loved  Protheus  as  well  as  he  did  her, 
but  she  was  a lady  of  a noble  spirit,  and  she 
thought  it  did  not  become  her  maiden  dignity 
too  easily  to  be  won  ; therefore  she  affected 
to  be  insensible  of  his  passion,  and  gave  him 
much  uneasiness  in  the  prosecution  of  his  suit. 

And  when  Lucetta  offered  the  letter  to  Julia 
she  would  not  receive  it,  and  chid  her  maid  for 
taking  letters  from  Protheus,  and  ordered  her 
to  leave  the  room.  But  she  so  much  wished 
to  see  what  was  written  in  the  letter,  that  she 
soon  called  in  her  maid  again,  and  when  Lu- 
cetta returned,  she  said,  What  o’clock  is  it  ? ” 
Lucetta,  who  knew  her  mistress  more  desired 


THE  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.  163 

to  see  the  letter  than  to  know  the  time  of  day, 
without  answering  her  question,  again  offered 
the  rejected  letter,  Julia,  angry  that  her  maid 
should  thus  take  the  liberty  of  seeming  to  know 
what  she  really  wanted,  tore  the  letter  in  pieces, 
and  threw  it  on  the  floor,  ordering  her  maid 
once  more  out  of  the  room.  As  Lucetta  was 
retiring,  she  stooped  to  pick  up  the  fragments 
of  the  torn  letter  ; but  Julia,  who  meant  not  so 
to  part  with  them,  said  in  pretended  anger, 

“ Go,  get  you  gone,  and  let  the  papers  lie  ; you 
would  be  fingering  them  to  anger  me.” 

Julia  then  began  to  piece  together  as  well 
as  she  could  the  torn  fragments.  She  first 
made  out  these  words,  “ Love-wounded  Pro- 
theus;” and  lamenting  over  these  and  such 
like  loving  words,  which  she  made  out  though 
they  were  all  torn  asunder,  or,  she  said, 
wounded  (the  expression  “ Love-wounded  Pro- 
theus,” giving  her  that  idea),  she  talked  to 
these  kind  words,  telling  them  she  would  lodge 
them  in  her  bosom  as  in  a bed,  till  their  ^ 
wounds  were  healed,  and  that  she  would  kiss 
each  several  piece,  to  make  amends. 

In  this  manner  she  went  on  talking  with  a 
pretty  lady-like  childishness,  till,  finding  her- 
self unable  to  make  out  the  whole,  and  vexed 
at  her  own  ingratitude  in  destroying  such 
sweet  and  loving  words,  as  she  called  them, 
she  wrote  a much  kinder  letter  to  Protheus 
than  she  had  ever  done  before. 

Protheus  was  greatly  delighted  at  receiving 
this  favorable  answer  to  his  letter  ; and  while 


1 64  TALES  FROM  SHA  KS PE  ARE, 


he  was  reading  it,  he  exclaimed,  “ Sweet  love, 
sweet  lines,  sweet  life  ! ” In  the  midst  of  his 
raptures  he  was  interrupted  by  his  father. 
u How  now  ! ” said  the  old  gentleman  ; “ what 
letter  are  you  reading  there  ? ” 

“ My  lord,”  replied  Protheus,  “ it  is  a letter 
from  my  friend  Valentine,  at  Milan.” 

“ Lend  me  the  letter,”  said  his  father  : “ let 
me  see  what  news.” 

“ There  are  no  news,  my  lord,”  said  Pro- 
theus, greatly  alarmed,  “ but  that  he  writes 
how  well  beloved  he  is  of  the  duke  of  Milan, 
who  daily  graces  him  with  favors  ; and  how  he 
wishes  me  with  him,  the  partner  of  his  fortune.” 
“ And  how  stand  you  affected  to  his  wish  ? ” 
asked  the  father. 

“ As  one  relying  on  your  lordshipis  will, 
and  not  depending  on  his  friendly  wish,”  said 
Protheus. 

Now  it  had  happened  that  Protheus’  father 
had  just  been  talking  with  a friend  on  this 
very  subject  : his  friend  had  said,  he  wondered 
his  lordship  suffered  his  son  to  spend  his 
youth  at  home,  while  most  men  were  sending 
their  sons  to  seek  preferment  abroad  : “ some  ” 
said  he,  “ to  the  wars,  to  try  their  fortunes 
there,  and  some  to  discover  islands  far  away, 
and  some  to  study  in  foreign  universities  ; and 
there  is  his  companion  Valentine,  he  is  gone 
to  the  Duke  of  Milan’s  court.  Your  son  is  fit 
for  any  of  these  things,  and  it  will  be  a great 
disadvantage  to  him  in  his  riper  age  not  to 
have  traveled  in  his  youth.” 


THE  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.  165 

Protheus’  father  thought  the  advice  of  his 
friend  was  very  good,  and  upon  Protheus  tell- 
ing him  that  Valentine  “ wished  him  with  him, 
the  partner  of  his  fortune/’  he  at  once  deter- 
mined to  send  his  son  to  Milan ; and  without 
giving  Protheus  any  reason  for  this  sudden 
resolution,  it  being  the  usual  habit  of  this 
positive  old  gentleman  to  command  his  son, 
not  reason  with  him,  he  said,  “ My  will  is  the 
same  as  Valentine’s  wish:”  and  seeing  his 
son  look  astonished,  he  added,  “ Look  not 
amazed,  that  I so  suddenly  resolve'  you  shall 
spend  some  time  in  the  duke  of  Milan’s  court ; 
for  what  I will,  I will,  and  there  is  an  end. 
To-morrow  be  in  readiness  to  go.  Make  no 
excuses  ; for  I am  peremptory.” 

Protheus  knew  it  was  of  no  use  to  make  ob- 
jections to  his  father,  who  never  suffered  him 
to  dispute  his  will  ; and  he  blamed  himself  for 
telling  his  father  an  untruth  about  Julia’s  letter, 
which  had  brought  upon  him  the  sad  necessity 
of  leaving  her. 

Now  that  Julia  found  she  was  going  to  lose 
Protheus  for  so  long  a time,  she  no  longer  pre- 
tended indifference  ; and  they  bade  each  other 
a mournful  farewell,  with  many  vows  of  love 
and  constancy.  Protheus  and  Julia  exchanged 
rings,  which  they  both  promised  to  keep  for- 
ever in  remembrance  of  each  other ; and  thus, 
taking  a sorrowful  leave,  Protheus  set  out  on 
his  journey  to  Milan,  the  abode  of  his  friend 
Valentine. 

Valentine  was  in  reality  what  Protheus  had 


1 66  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 

feigned  to  his  father,  in  high  favor  with  the 
duke  of  Milan  ; and  another  event  had  hap- 
pened to  him  of  which  Protheus  did  not  even 
dream,  for  Valentine  had  given  up  the  freedom 
of  which  he  used  so  much  to  boast,  and  was 
become  as  passionate  a lover  as  Protheus. 

She  who  had  wrought  this  wondrous  change 
in  Valentine  was  the  lady  Silvia,  daughter  of 
the  duke  of  Milan,  and  she  also  loved  him; 
but  they  concealed  their  love  from  the  duke, 
because  although  he  showed  much  kindness 
for  Valentine,  and  invited  him  every  day  to  his 
palace,  yet  he  designed  to  marry  his  daughter 
to  a young  courtier  whose  name  was  Thurio. 
Silvia  despised  this  Thurio,  for  he  had  none 
of  the  fine  sense  and  excellent  qualities  of 
Valentine. 

These  two  rivals,  Thurio  and  Valentine, 
were  one  day  on  a visit  to  Silvia,  and  Valentine 
was  entertaining  Silvia  with  turning  everything 
Thurio  said  into  ridicule,  when  the  duke  him- 
self entered  the  room,  and  told  Valentine  the 
welcome  news  of  his  friend  Protheus’  arrival. 
Valentine  said,  “ If  I had  wished  a thing,  it 
would  have  been  to  have  seen  him  here  ! ” and 
then  he  highly  praised  Protheus  to  the  duke, 
saying,  “ My  lord,  though  I have  been  a truant 
of  my  time,  yet  hath  my  friend  made  use  and 
fair  advantage  of  his  days,  and  is  complete  in 
person  as  in  mind,  in  all  good  grace  to  grace 
a gentleman.” 

“ Welcome  him  then  according  to  his  worth,” 
said  the  duke : “ Silvia,  I speak  to  you,  and 


THE  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.  167 

you,  sir  Thurio  ; for  Valentine,  I need  not  bid 
him  do  so.”  They  were  here  interrupted  by 
the  entrance  of  Protheus,  and  Valentine  intro- 
duced him  to  Silvia,  saying,  “ Sweet  lady, 
entertain  him  to  be  my  fellow  servant  to  your 
ladyship.” 

When  Valentine  and  Protheus  had  ended 
their  visit,  and  were  alone  together,  Valentine 
said,  “ Now  tell  me  how  all  does  from  whence 
you  came  ? How  does  your  lady,  and  how 
thrives  your  love  ? ” Protheus  replied,  “ My 
tales  of  love  used  to  weary  you.  I know  you 
joy  not  in  a love  discourse.” 

“Ay,  Protheus,”  returned  Valentine,  “but 
that  life  is  altered  now.  I have  done  penance 
for  condemning  love.  For  in  revenge  of  my 
contempt  of  Love,  Love  has  chased  sleep 
from  my  enthralled  eyes.  O gentle  Protheus, 
Love  is  a mighty  lord,  and  hath  so  humbled 
me,  that  I confess  there  is  no  woe  like  his  cor- 
rection, nor  no  such  joy  on  earth  as  in  his 
service.  I now  like  no  discourse  except  it  be 
of  love.  Now  I can  break  my  fast,  dine,  sup, 
and  sleep,  upon  the  very  name  of  love.” 

This  acknowledgment  of  the  change  which 
love  had  made  in  the  disposition  of  Valentine 
was  a great  triumph  to  his  friend  Protheus. 
But  “friend,”  Protheus  must  be  called  no 
longer,  for  the  same  all  powerful  deity  Love,  of 
whom  they  were  speaking  (yea,  even  while  they 
were  talking  of  the  change  he  had  made  in 
Valentine),  was  working  in  the  heart  of  Pro- 
theus ; and  he,  who  had  till  this  time  been  a 


i68 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


pattern  of  true  love  and  perfect  friendship, 
was  now,  in  one  short  interview  with  Silvia, 
become  a false  friend  and  a faithless  lover  ; for 
at  the  first  sight  of  Silvia,  all  his  love  for  Julia 
vanished  away  like  a dream,  nor  did  his  long 
friendship  for  Valentine  deter  him  from  en- 
deavoring to  supplant  him  in  her  affection  ; 
and  although,  as  it  will  always  be,  when  people 
whose  dispositions  are  naturally  good  become 
unjust,  he  had  many  scruples  before  he  deter- 
mined to  forsake  Julia,  and  become  the  rival 
of  Valentine  : yet  he  at  length  overcame  his 
sense  of  duty,  and  yielded  himself  up,  almost 
without  remorse,  to  his  new  unhappy  passion. 

Valentine  imparted  to  him  in  confidence  the 
whole  history  of  his  love,  and  how  carefully 
they  had  concealed  it  from  the  duke  her  father, 
and  told  him,  that,  despairing  of  ever  being 
able  to  obtain  his  consent,  he  had  prevailed 
upon  Silvia  to  leave  her  father’s  palace  that 
night,  and  go  with  him  to  Mantua  ; then  he 
showed  Protheus  a ladder  of  ropes,  by  help 
of  which  he  meant  to  assist  Silvia  to  get  out 
of  one  of  the  windows  of  the  palace  after  it 
was  dark. 

Upon  hearing  this  faithful  recital  of  his 
friend’s  dearest  secrets,  it  is  hardly  possible  to 
be  believed,  but  so  it  was,  that  Protheus  re- 
solved to  go  to  the  duke  and  disclose  the  whole 
to  him. 

This  false  friend  began  his  tale  with  many 
artful  speeches  to  the  duke  ; such  as,  that  by 
the  laws  of  friendship  he  ought  to  conceal 


THE  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.  169 

what  he  was  going  to  reveal,  but  that  the 
gracious  favor  the  duke  had  shown  him,  and 
the  duty  he  owed  his  grace,  urged  him  to  tell 
that  which  else  no  worldly  good  should  draw 
from  him.  He  then  told  all  he  had  heard 
from  Valentine,  not  omitting  the  ladder  of 
ropes,  and  the  manner  in  which  Valentine 
meant  to  conceal  them  under  a long  cloak. 

The  duke  thought  Protheus  quite  a miracle 
of  integrity,  in  that  he  preferred  telling  his 
friend’s  intention  rather  than  he  would  con- 
ceal an  unjust  action  ; highly  commended  him, 
and  promised  him  not  to  let  Valentine  know 
from  whom  he  had  learnt  this  intelligence, 
but  by  some  artifice  to  make  Valentine  betray 
the  secret  himself.  For  this  purpose  the  duke 
awaited  the  coming  of  Valentine  in  the  even- 
ing, whom  he  soon  saw  hurrying  towards  the 
palace,  and  he  perceived  something  was 
wrapped  within  his  cloak,  which  he  concluded 
was  the  rope-ladder. 

The  duke  upon  this  stopped  him,  saying, 
“ Whither  away  so  fast  Valentine?”  “ May 
it  please  your  grace,”  said  Valentine,  “ there  is 
a messenger  that  stays  to  bear  my  letters  to 
my  friends,  and  I am  going  to  deliver  them.” 
Now  this  falsehood  of  Valentine’s  had  no 
better  success  in  the  event  than  the  untruth 
Protheus  told  his  father. 

“ Be  they  of  much  import  ? ” said  the  duke. 

“No  more,  my  lord,”  said  Valentine,  “than 
to  tell  my  father  I am  well  and  happy  at  your 
grace’s  court.” 


1 7 o TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 

“ Nay,  then, ” said  the  duke,  “ no  matter: 
stay  with  me  a while.  I wish  your  counsel 
about  some  affairs  that  concern  me  nearly.” 
He  then  told  Valentine  an  artful  story,  as  a 
prelude  to  draw  his  secret  from  him,  saying 
that  Valentine  knew  he  wished  to  match  his 
daughter  with  Thurio,  but  that  she  was  stub- 
born and  disobedient  to  his  commands, 
“ neither  regarding,”  said  he,  “ that  she  is  my 
child,  nor  fearing  me  as  if  I were  her  father. 
And  I may  say  to  thee,  this  pride  of  hers  has 
drawn  my  love  from  her.  I had  thought  my 
age  should  have  been  cherished  by  her  child- 
like duty.  I now  am  resolved  to  take  a wife, 
and  turn  her  out  to  whosoever  will  take  her 
in.  Let  her  beauty  be  her  wedding  dower, 
for  me  and  my  possessions  she  esteems  not.” 

Valentine,  wondering  where  all  this  would 
end,  made  answer,  “ And  what  would  your 
grace  have  me  to  do  in  all  this  ? ” 

“ Why,”  said  the  duke,  “ the  lady  I would 
wish  to  marry  is  nice  and  coy,  and  does  not 
much  esteem  my  aged  eloquence.  Besides, 
the  fashion  of  courtship  is  much  changed  since 
I was  young  : now  I would  willingly  have  you 
to  be  my  tutor  to  instruct  me  how  I am  to 
woo.” 

Valentine  gave  him  a general  idea  of  the 
modes  of  courtship  then  practiced  by  young 
men,  when  they  wished  to  win  a fair  lady’s  love, 
such  as  presents,  frequent  visits,  and  the 
like. 

The  duke  replied  to  this,  that  the  lady  did 


THE  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA . 17 1 

refuse  a present  which  he  sent  her,  and  that 
she  was  so  strictly  kept  by  her  father,  that  no 
man  might  have  access  to  her  by  day. 

“Why,  then,”  said  Valentine,  “you  must 
visit  her  by  night.” 

“ But  at  night,”  said  the  artful  duke,  who 
was  now  coming  to  the  drift  of  his  discourse, 
“ her  doors  are  fast  locked.” 

Valentine  then  unfortunately  proposed,  that 
the  duke  should  get  into  the  lady’s  chamber  at 
night  by  means  of  a ladder  of  ropes,  saying, 
he  would  procure  him  one  fitting  for  that  pur- 
pose ; and  in  conclusion  advised  him  to  con- 
ceal this  ladder  of  ropes  under  such  a cloak  as 
that  which  he  now  wore.  “ Lend  me  your 
cloak,”  said  the  duke,  who  had  feigned  this 
long  story  on  purpose  to  have  a pretense  to 
get  off  the  cloak : so,  upon  saying  these  words, 
he  caught  hold  of  Valentine’s  cloak,  and  throw- 
ing it  back,  he  discovered  not  only  the  ladder 
of  ropes,  but  also  a letter  of  Silvia’s,  which  he 
instantly  opened  and  read  ; and  this  letter  con- 
tained a full  account  of  their  intended  elope- 
ment. The  duke,  after  upbraiding  Valentine 
for  his  ingratitude  in  thus  returning  the  favor 
he  had  shown  him,  by  endeavoring  to  steal 
away  his  daughter,  banished  him  from  the 
court  and  city  of  Milan  forever;  and  Valen 
tine  was  forced  to  depart  that  night  without 
even  seeing  Silvia. 

While  Protheus  at  Milan  was  thus  injuring 
Valentine,  Julia  at  Verona  was  regretting  the 
absence  of  Protheus ; and  her  regard  for  him 


1J2  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 

at  last  so  far  overcame  her  sense  of  propriety, 
that  she  resolved  to  leave  Verona  and  seek 
her  lover  at  Milan ; and  to  secure  herself  from 
danger  on  the  road,  she  dressed  her  maid 
Lucetta  and  herself  in  men’s  clothes,  and  they 
set  out  in  this  disguise,  and  arrived  at  Milan, 
soon  after  Valentine  was  banished  from  that 
city  through  the  treachery  of  Protheus. 

Julia  entered  Milan  about  noon,  and  she 
took  up  her  abode  at  an  inn  ; and  her  thoughts 
being  all  on  her  dear  Protheus,  she  entered 
into  conversation  with  the  innkeeper,  or  host, 
as  he  was  called,  thinking  by  that  means  to 
learn  some  news  of  Protheus. 

The  host  was  greatly  pleased  that  this  hand- 
some young  gentleman  (as  he  took  her  to  be), 
who,  from  his  appearance,  he  concluded  was 
of  high  rank,  spoke  so  familiarly  to  him  ; and 
being  a good-natured  man,  he  was  sorry  to 
see  him  look  so  melancholy  ; and  to  amuse  his 
young  guest  he  offered  to  take  him  to  hear 
some  fine  music,  with  which  he  said,  a gentle- 
man that  evening  was  going  to  serenade  his 
mistress. 

The  reason  Julia  looked  so  very  melancholy 
was,  that  she  did  not  well  know  what  Protheus 
would  think  of  the  imprudent  step  she  had 
taken ; for  she  knew  he  had  loved  her  for  her 
noble  maiden  pride  and  dignity  of  character, 
and  she  feared  she  should  lower  herself  in  his 
esteem  : and  this  it  was  that  made  her  wear 
a sad  and  thoughtful  countenance. 

She  gladly  accepted  the  offer  of  the  host  to 


THE  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.  173 

go  with  him,  and  hear  the  music ; for  she 
secretly  hoped  she  might  meet  Protheus  by  the 
way. 

But  when  she  came  to  the  palace  whither  the 
host  conducted  her,  a very  different  effect  was 
produced  to  what  the  kind  host  intended ; for 
there,  to  her  heart’s  sorrow,  she  beheld  her 
lover,  the  inconstant  Protheus,  serenading  the 
lady  Silvia  with  music,  and  addressing  dis- 
course of  love  and  admiration  to  her.  And 
Julia  overheard  Silvia  from  a window  talk 
with  Protheus,  and  reproach  him  for  forsak- 
ing his  own  true  lady,  and  for  his  ingratitude 
to  his  friend  Valentine  : and  then  Silvia  left 
the  window  not  choosing  to  listen  to  his  music 
and  his  fine  speeches  ; for  she  was  a faithful 
lady  to  her  banished  Valentine,  and  abhorred 
the  ungenerous  conduct  of  his  false  friend 
Protheus. 

Though  Julia  was  in  despair  at  what  she  had 
just  witnessed,  yet  did  she  still  love  the  truant 
Protheus  ; and  hearing  that  he  had  lately 
parted  with  a servant,  she  contrived  with  the 
assistance  of  her  host,  the  friendly  innkeeper, 
to  hire  herself  to  Protheus  as  a page,  and 
Protheus  knew  not  she  was  Julia,  and  he 
sent  her  with  letters  and  presents  to  her  rival 
Silvia,  and  he  even  sent  by  her  the  very  ring 
she  gave  him  as  a parting  gift  at  Verona. 

When  she  went  to  that  lady  with  the  ring, 
she  was  most  glad  to  find  that  Silvia  utterly 
rejected  the  suit  of  Protheus;  and  Julia,  or 
the  page  Sebastian,  as  she  was  called,  entered 


174  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 

into  conversation  with  Silvia  about  Protheus* 
first  love,  the  forsaken  lady  Julia.  She,  put- 
ting in  (as  one  may  say)  a good  word  for  her- 
self, said  she  knew  Julia ; as  well  she  might, 
being  herself  the  Julia  of  whom  she  spoke  : tell- 
ing how  fondly  Julia  loved  her  master  Pro- 
theus,  and  how  his  unkind  neglect  would  grieve 
her  ; and  then  she  with  a pretty  equivocation 
went  on  ; u Julia  is  about  my  height  and  of  my 
complexion,  the  color  of  her  eyes  and  hair 
the  same  as  mine  : ” and  indeed  Julia  looked  a 
most  beautiful  youth  in  her  boy’s  attire.  Silvia 
was  moved  to  pity  this  lovely  lady,  who  was  so 
sadly  forsaken  by  the  man  she  loved ; and 
when  Julia  offered  the  ring  which  Protheus  had 
sent,  refused  it,  saying,  “ The  more  shame  for 
him  that  he  sends  me  that  ring  ; I will  not 
take  it,  for  I have  often  heard  him  say  his  Julia 
gave  it  to  him.  I love  thee,  gentle  youth,  for 
pitying  her,  poor  lady  ! Here  is  a purse  ; I 
gave  it  you  for  Julia’s  sake.”  These  com- 
fortable words  coming  from  her  kind  rival’? 
tongue  cheered  the  drooping  heart  of  the  dis- 
guised lady. 

But  to  return  to  the  banished  Valentine  ; 
who  scarce  knew  which  way  to  bend  his  course, 
being  unwilling  to  return  home  to  his  father  a 
disgraced  and  banished  man  : as  he  was  wan- 
dering over  a lonely  forest  not  far  distant  from 
Milan,  where  he  had  left  his  heart ’s  dear  treas- 
ure, the  lady  Silvia,  he  was  set  upon  by  rob- 
bers, who  demanded  his  money. 

Valentine  told  them  that  he  was  a man 


THE  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA . 175 

crossed  by  adversity,  that  he  was  going  into 
banishment,  and  that  he  had  no  money,  the 
clothes  he  had  on  being  all  his  riches. 

The  robbers,  hearing  that  he  was  a distressed 
man,  and  being  struck  with  his  noble  air  and 
manly  behavior,  told  him  if  he  would  live  with 
them,  and  be  their  chief,  or  captain,  they  would 
put  themselves  under  his  command  ; but  that, 
if  he  refused  to  accept  their  offer,  they  would 
kill  him. 

V alentine,  who  cared  little  what  became  of 
himself,  said  he  would  consent  to  live  with 
them  and  be  their  captain,  provided  they  did 
no  outrage  on  women  or  poor  passengers. 

Thus  the  noble  Valentine  became,  like 
Robin  Hood,  of  whom  we  read  in  ballads,  a 
captain  of  robbers  and  outlawed  banditti : and 
in  this  situation  he  was  found  by  Silvia,  and 
in  this  manner  it  came  to  pass. 

Silvia,  to  avoid  a marriage  with  Thurio, 
whom  her  father  insisted  upon  her  no  longer 
refusing,  came  at  last  to  the  resolution  of  fol- 
lowing Valentine  to  Mantua,  at  which  place 
she  had  heard  her  lover  had  taken  refuge  ; 
but  in  this  account  she  was  misinformed,  for 
he  still  lived  in  the  forest  among  the  robbers, 
bearing  the  name  of  their  captain,  but  taking 
no  part  in  their  depredations,  and  using  the 
authority  which  they  had  imposed  upon  him 
in  no  other  way  than  to  compel  them,  to  show 
compassion  to  the  travelers  they  robbed. 

Silvia  contrived  to  effect  her  escape  from 
her  father’s  palace  in  company  with  a worthy 


176  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 

old  gentleman,  whose  name  was  Eglamour, 
whom  she  took  along  with  her  for  protection 
on  the  road.  She  had  to  pass  through  the 
forest  where  Valentine  and  the  banditti  dwelt, 
and  one  of  these  robbers  seized  on  Silvia,  and 
would  also  have  taken  Eglamour,  but  he  es- 
caped. 

The  robber  who  had  taken  Silvia,  seeing  the 
terror  she  was  in,  bid  her  not  be  alarmed,  for 
that  he  was  only  going  to  carry  her  to  a cave 
where  his  captain  lived,  and  that  she  need  not 
be  afraid,  for  their  captain  had  an  honorable 
mind,  and  always  showed  humanity  to  women. 
Silvia  found  little  comfort  in  hearing  she  was 
going  to  be  carried  as  a prisoner  before  the 
captain  of  a lawless  banditti.  “ O V alentine,” 
she  cried,  “ this  I endure  for  thee  ! ” 

But  as  the  robber  was  conveying  her  to  the 
cave  of  his  captain  he  was  stopped  by  Protheus, 
who,  still  attended  by  Julia  in  the  disguise  of 
a page,  having  heard  of  the  flight  of  Silvia,  had 
traced  her  steps  to  this  forest.  Protheus  now 
rescued  her  from  the  hands  of  the  robber ; 
but  scarce  had  she  time  to  thank  him  for  the 
service  he  had  done  her,  before  he  began  to 
distress  her  afresh  with  his  lovesuit : and 
while  he  was  rudely  pressing  her  to  consent  to 
marry  him,  and  his  page  (the  forlorn  Julia) 
was  standing  beside  him  in  great  anxiety  of 
mind,  fearing  lest  the  great  service  which  Pro- 
theus had  just  done  to  Silvia  should  win  her 
to  show  him  some  favor,  they  were  all  strange- 
ly surprised  with  the  sudden  appearance  of 


THE  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA.  177 

Valentine,  who,  having  heard  his  robbers  had 
taken  a lady  prisoner,  came  to  console  and 
relieve  her. 

Protheus  was  courting  Silvia,  and  he  was  so 
much  ashamed  of  being  caught  by  his  friend, 
that  he  was  all  at  once  seized  with  penitence 
and  remorse  ; and  he  expressed  such  a lively 
sorrow  for  the  injuries  he  had  done  to  Valen- 
tine, that  Valentine*,  whose  nature  was  noble 
and  generous,  even  to  a romantic  degree,  not 
only  forgave  and  restored  him  to  his  former 
place  in  his  friendship,  but  in  a sudden  flight 
of  heroism  he  said,  “ I freely  do  forgive  you  ; 
and  all  the  interest  I have  in  Silvia,  I give  it 
up  to  you.”  Julia,  who  was  standing  beside 
her  master  as  a page,  hearing  this  strange  offer, 
and  fearing  Protheus  would  not  be  able,  with 
this  new-found  virtue  to  refuse  Silvia,  fainted, 
and  they  were  all  employed  in  recovering  her ; 
else  would  Silvia  have  been  offended  at  being 
thus  made  over  to  Protheus,  though  she  could 
scarcely  think  that  Valentine  would  long  per- 
severe in  this  overstrained  and  too  generous 
act  of  friendship.  When  Julia  recovered  from 
the  fainting  fit,  she  said,  “ I had  forgot,  my 
master  ordered  me  to  deliver  this  ring  to 
Silvia.”  Protheus,  looking  upon  the  ring,  saw 
that  it  was  the  one  he  gave  to  Julia,  in  return 
for  that  which  he  received  from  her,  and  which 
he  had  sent  by  the  supposed  page  to  Silvia. 
“ How  is  this  ? ” said  he,  “ this  is  Julia’s  ring : 
how  came  you  by  it,  boy  ? ” Julia  answered, 
“ Julia  herself  did  give  it  me,  and  Julia  herself 
hath  brought  it  hither. 


178  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


Protheus,  now  looking  earnestly  upon  her, 
plainly  perceived  that  the  page  Sebastian  was 
no  other  than  the  lady  Julia  herself  : and  the 
proof  she  had  given  of  her  constancy  and  true 
love  so  wrought  in  him,  that  his  love  for  her 
returned  into  his  heart,  and  he  took  again  his 
own  dear  lady,  and  joyfully  resigned  all  pre- 
tensions to  the  lady  Silvia  to  Valentine,  who 
had  so  well  deserved  her.  • 

Protheus  and  Valentine  were  expressing  • 
their  happiness  in  their  reconciliation,  and 
in  the  love  of  their  faithful  ladies,  when  they 
were  surprised  with  the  sight  of  the  duke  of 
Milan  and  Thurio,  who  came  there  in  pursuit 
of  Silvia. 

Thurio  first  approached,  and  attempted  to 
seize  Silvia,  saying,  “ Silvia  is  mine.”  Upon 
this  Valentine  said  to  him  in  a very  spirited 
manner,  “ Thurio,  keep  back  : if  once  again 
you  say  that  Silvia  is  yours,  you  shall  embrace 
your  death.  Here  she  stands,  take  but  pos- 
session of  her  with  a touch  ! I dare  you  but 
to  breathe  upon  my  love.”  Hearing  this  threat, 
Thurio,  who  was  a great  coward,  drew  back, 
and  said  he  cared  not  for  her,  and  that  none 
but  a fool  would  fight  for  a girl  who  loved  him 
not. 

The  duke,  who  was  a very  brave  man  him- 
self, said  now  in  great  anger,  “ The  more  base 
and  degenerate  in  you  to  take  such  means  for 
her  as  you  have  done,  and  leave  her  on  such 
light  conditions.”  Then  turning  to  Valentine 
he  said,  “ I do  applaud  your  spirit,  Valentine 


THE  TWO  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA . 179 

and  think  you  worthy  of  an  empress’s  love. 
You  shall  have  Silvia,  for  you  have  well  de- 
served her.”  Valentine  then  with  great  humil- 
ity kissed  the  duke’s  hand,  and  accepted  the 
noble  present  which  he  had  made  him  of  his 
daughter  with  becoming  thankfulness ; taking 
occasion  of  this  joyful  minute  to  entreat  the 
good-humored  duke  to  pardon  the  thieves 
with  whom  he  had  associated  in  the  forest,  as- 
suring him,  that  when  reformed  and  restored 
to  society,  there  would  be  found  among  them 
many  good,  and  fit  for  great  employment ; for 
the  most  of  them  had  been  banished,  like 
Valentine,  for  state  offenses,  rather  than  for 
any  black  crimes  they  had  been  guilty  of.  To 
this  the  ready  duke  consented ; and  now 
nothing  remained  but  that  Protheus,  the  false 
friend,  was  ordained,  by  way  of  penance  for 
liis  love-prompted  faults,  to  be  present  at  the 
recital  of  the  whole  story  of  his  loves  and 
falsehoods  before  the  duke  ; and  the  shame  of 
the  recital  to  his  awakened  conscience  was 
judged  sufficient  punishment  : which  being 
done,  the  lovers,  all  four,  returned  back  to 
Milan,  and  their  nuptials  were  solemnized  in 
presence  of  the  duke,  with  high  triumphs  and 
feasting. 


CYMBELINE. 


During  the  time  of  Augustus  Caesar,  em- 
peror of  Rome,  there  reigned  in  England 
(which  was  then  called  Britain)  a king  whose 
name  was  Cymbeline. 

Cymbeline’s  first  wife  died  when  his  three 
children  (two  sons  and  a daughter)  were  very 
young.  Imogen,  the  eldest  of  these  children, 
was  brought  up  in  her  father’s  court ; but  by 
a strange  chance  the  two  sons  of  Cymbeline 
were  stolen  out  of  their  nursery,  when  the 
eldest  was  but  three  years  of  age,  and  the 
youngest  quite  an  infant : and  Cymbeline  could 
never  discover  what  was  become  of  them,  or 
by  whom  they  were  conveyed  away. 

Cymbeline  was  twice  married  ; his  second 
wife  was  a wicked,  plotting  woman,  and  a 
cruel  step-mother  to  Imogen,  Cymbeline’s 
daughter  by  his  first  wife. 

The  queen,  though  she  hated  Imogen,  yet 
wished  her  to  marry  a son  of  her  own  by  a 
former  husband  (she  also  having  been  twice 
married)  : for  by  this  means  she  hoped  upon 
the  death  of  Cymbeline  to  place  the  crown  of 
Britain  upon  the  head  of  her  son  Cloten  : for 
she  knew  that,  if  the  king’s  sons  were  not 
found,  the  princess  Imogen  must  be  the  king’s 
180 


C YMBE  LINE.  j8i 

heir.  But  this  design  was  prevented  by 
Imogen  herself,  who  married  without  the  con- 
sent or  even  knowledge  of  her  father  or  the 
queen. 

Posthumus  (for  that  was  the  name  of 
Imogen’s  husband)  was  the  best  scholar  and 
most  accomplished  gentleman  of  that  age. 
His  father  died  fighting  in  the  wars  for  Cym- 
beline,  and  soon  after  his  birth  his  mother 
died  also  for  grief  at  the  loss  of  her  husband. 

Cymbeline,  pitying  the  helpless  state  of  this 
orphan,  took  Posthumus  (Cymbeline  having 
given  him  that  name,  because  he  was  born 
after  his  father’s  death)  and  educated  him  in 
his  own  court. 

Imogen  and  Posthumus  were  both  taught 
by  the  same  masters,  and  were  playfellows 
from  their  infancy ; they  loved  each  other  ten- 
derly when  they  were  children,  and  their  affec- 
tion continuing  to  increase  with  their  years, 
when  they  grew  up  they  privately  married. 

The  disappointed  queen  soon  learnt  this 
secret,  for  she  kept  spies  constantly  in  watch 
upon  the  actions  of  her  daughter-in-law,  and 
she  immediately  told  the  king  of  the  marriage 
of  Imogen  with  Posthumus. 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  wrath  of  Cymbe- 
line, when  he  heard  that  his  daughter  had 
been  so  forgetful  of  her  high  dignity  as  to 
marry  a subject.  He  commanded  Posthumus 
to  leave  Britain,  and  banished  him  from  his 
native  country  forever. 

The  queen,  who  pretended  to  pity  Imogen 


182  TALA'S  ATOM  SHAKSPEARE. 


for  the  grief  she  suffered  at  losing  her  husband, 
offered  to  procure  them  a private  meeting 
before  Posthumus  set  out  on  his  journey  to 
Rome,  which  place  he  had  chosen  for  his 
residence  in  his  banishment : this  seeming 
kindness  she  showed,  the  better  to  succeed  in 
her  future  designs  in  regard  to  her  son  Cloten  ; 
for  she  meant  to  persuade  Imogen,  when  her 
husband  was  gone,  that  her  marriage  was  not 
lawful,  being  contracted  without  the  consent 
of  the  king. 

Imogen  and  Posthumus  took  a most  affec- 
tionate leave  of  each  other.  Imogen  gave  her 
husband  a diamond  ring  which  had  been  her 
mother’s,  and  Posthumus  promised  never  to 
part  with  the  ring;  and  he  fastened  a bracelet 
on  the  arm  of  his  wife,  which  he  begged  she 
would  preserve  with  great  care,  as  a token 
of  his  love  ; they  then  bid  each  other  farewell, 
with  many  vows  of  everlasting  love  and  fidel- 
ity 

Imogen  remained  a solitary  and  dejected 
lady  in  her  father’s  court,  and  Posthumus  ar- 
rived at  Rome,  the  place  he  had  chosen  for  his 
banishment. 

Posthumus  fell  into  company  at  Rome  with 
some  gay  young  men  of  different  nations,  who 
were  talking  freely  of  ladies  ; each  one  praising 
the  ladies  of  his  own  country,  and  his  own 
mistress.  Posthumus,  who  had  ever  his  own 
dear  lady  in  his  mind,  affirmed  that  his  wife, 
the  fair  Imogen,  was  the  most  virtuous,  wise, 
and  constant  lady  in  the  world. 


CYMBELINE. 


i83 

One  of  these  gentleman,  whose  name  was 
Iachimo,  being  offended  that  a lady  of  Britain 
should  be  so  praised  above  the  Roman  ladies, 
his  countrywomen,  provoked  Posthumus  by 
seeming  to  doubt  the  constancy  of  his  so  highly- 
praised  wife ; and,  at  length,  after  much  alter- 
cation, Posthumus  consented  to  a proposal  of 
Iachimo’s,  that  he  (Iachimo)  should  go  to 
Britain,  and  endeavor  to  gain  the  love  of  the 
married  Imogen.  They  then  laid  a wager, 
that  if  Iachimo  did  not  succeed  in  this  wicked 
design,  he  was  to  forfeit  a large  sum  of  money  ; 
but  if  he  could  win  Imogen’s  favor,  and  pre- 
vail upon  her  to  give  him  the  bracelet  which 
Posthumus  had  so  earnestly  desired  she  would 
keep  as  a token  of  his  love,  then  the  wager 
was  to  terminate  with  Posthumus  giving  to 
Iachimo,  the  ring,  which  was  Imogen’s  love- 
present  when  she  parted  with  her  husband. 
Such  firm  faith  had  Posthumus  in  the  fidelity 
of  Imogen  that  he  thought  he  ran  no  hazard  in 
this  trial  of  her  honor. 

Iachimo,  on  his  arrival  in  Britain,  gained  ad- 
mittance, and  a courteous  welcome  from  Im- 
ogen, as  a friend  of  her  husband  ; but  when 
he  began  to  make  professions  of  love  to  her, 
she  repulsed  him  with  disdain,  and  he  soon 
found  that  he  could  have  no  hope  of  succeeding 
in  his  dishonorable  design. 

The  desire  Iachimo  had  to  win  the  wager 
made  him  now  have  recourse  to  a stratagem 
to  impose  upon  Posthumus,  and  for  this  pur- 
pose he  bribed  some  of  Imogen’s  attendants, 


1 84  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARR. 

and  was  by  them  conveyed  into  her  bedcham- 
ber concealed  in  a large  trunk,  where  he  re- 
mained shut  up  tiil  Imogen  had  retired  to  rest, 
and  had  fallen  to  sleep  ; and  then  getting  out 
of  the  trunk,  he  examined  the  chamber  with 
great  attention,  and  wrote  down  everything  he 
saw  there,  and  particularly  noticed  a mole 
which  he  observed  upon  Imogen’s  neck,  and 
then  softly  unloosing  the  bracelet  from  her 
arm,  which  Posthumus  had  given  to  her,  he  re- 
tired into  the  chest  again ; and  the  next  day 
he  set  off  for  Rome  with  great  expedition,  and 
boasted  to  Posthumus  that  Imogen  had  given 
him  the  bracelet,  and  likewise  permitted  him 
to  pass  a night  in  her  chamber  : and  in  this 
manner  Iachimo  told  his  false  tale : “ Her 
bedchamber,”  said  he,  “ was  hung  with  tapes- 
try of  silk  and  silver,  the  story  was  the  proud 
Cleopatra  when  she  met  her  Anthony , a piece  of 
work  most  bravely  wrought.” 

“This  is  true,”  said  Posthumus;  “but  this 
you  might  have  heard  spoken  of  without  see- 
ing.” 

“ Then  the  chimney,”  said  Iachimo,  “ is 
south  of  the  chamber,  and  the  chimney-piece 
is  Diana  bathing ; never  saw  I figures  livelier 
expressed.” 

“ This  is  a thing  you  might  have  likewise 
heard,”  said  Posthumus,  “for  it  is  much  talked 
of.” 

Iachimo  as  accurately  described  the  roof  of 
the  chamber,  and  added,  “ I had  almost  forgot 
her  andirons,  they  were  two  winking  Cupids 


CYMBELINE. 


i85 

made  of  silver,  each  on  one  foot  standing.” 
He  then  took  out  the  bracelet,  and  said, 
“ Know  you  this  jewel,  sir  ? She  gave  me 
this.  She  took  it  from  her  arm.  I see  her 
yet ; her  pretty  action  did  outsell  her  gift,  and 
yet  enriched  it  too.  She  gave  it  me,  and 
said  she  prized  it  once?  He  last  of  all  de- 
scribed the  mole  he  had  observed  upon  her 
neck. 

Posthumus,  who  had  heard  the  whole  of 
this  artful  recital  in  an  agony  of  doubt,  now 
broke  out  into  the  most  passionate  exclama- 
tions against  Imogen.  He  delivered  up  the 
diamond  ring  to  Iachimo,  which  he  had  agreed 
to  forfeit  to  him  if  he  obtained  the  bracelet 
from  Imogen. 

Posthumus  then  in  a jealous  rage  wrote  to 
Pisanio,  a gentleman  of  Britain,  who  was  one 
of  Imogen’s  attendants,  and  had  long  been  a 
faithful  friend  to  Posthumus ; and  after  telling 
him  what  proof  he  had  of  his  wife’s  disloyalty, 
he  desired  Pisanio  would  take  Imogen  to 
Milford  Haven,  a sea-port  of  Wales,  and  there 
kill  her.  And  at  the  same  time  he  wrote  a 
deceitful  letter  to  Imogen,  desiring  her  to  go 
with  Pisanio,  for  that,  finding  he  could  live  no 
longer  without  seeing  her,  though  he  was  for- 
bidden upon  pain  of  death  to  return  to  Britain, 
he  would  come  to  Milford  Haven,  at  which 
place  he  begged  she  would  meet  him.  She, 
good  unsuspecting  lady,  who  loved  her  hus- 
band above  all  things,  and  desired  more  than 
her  life  to  see  him,  hastened  her  departure 


1 86  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 


with  Pisanio,  and  the  same  night  she  received 
the  letter  she  set  out. 

When  their  journey  was  nearly  at  an  end, 
Pisanio,  who,  though  faithful  to  Posthumus, 
was  not  faithful  to  serve  him  in  an  evil  deed, 
disclosed  to  Imogen  the  cruel  order  he  had 
received. 

Imogen,  who  instead  of  meeting  a loving 
and  beloved  husband,  found  herself  doomed 
by  that  husband  to  suffer  death,  was  afflicted 
beyond  measure. 

Pisanio  persuaded  her  to  take  comfort,  and 
wait  with  patient  fortitude  for  the  time  when 
Posthumus  should  see  and  repent  his  injustice  : 
in  the  meantime,  as  she  refused  in  her  distress 
to  return  to  her  father’s  court,  he  advised  her 
to  dress  herself  in  boy’s  clothes  for  more  secu- 
rity in  traveling  ; to  which  advice  she  agreed, 
and  thought  in  that  disguise  she  would  go  over 
to  Rome  and  see  her  husband,  whom,  though 
he  had  used  her  so  barbarously,  she  could  not 
forget  to  love. 

When  Pisanio  had  provided  her  with  her 
new  apparel,  he  left  her  to  her  uncertain  for- 
tune, being  obliged  to  return  to  court : but 
before  he  departed  he  gave  her  a phial  of 
cordial,  which  he  said  the  queen  had  given 
him  as  a sovereign  remedy  in  all  disorders. 

The  queen,  who  hated  Pisanio  because  he 
was  a friend  to  Imogem  and  Posthumus,  gave 
him  this  phial,  which  she  supposed  contained 
poison,  she  having  ordered  her  physician,  to 
give  her  some  poison,  to  try  its  effects  (as  she 


CYMBELINE. 


187 

said)  upon  animals  : but  the  physician,  know- 
ing  her  malicious  disposition,  would  not  trust 
her  with  real  poison,  but  gave  her  a drug 
which  would  do  no  other  mischief  than  caus- 
ing a person  to  sleep  with  every  appearance  of 
death  for  a few  hours.  This  mixture,  which 
Pisanio  thought  a choice  cordial,  he  gave  to 
Imogen,  desiring  her,  if  she  found  herself  ill 
upon  the  road,  to  take  it  ; and  so  with  bless- 
ings and  prayers  for  her  safety  and  happy  de- 
liverance from  her  undeserved  troubles,  he 
left  her. 

Providence  strangely  directed  Imogen’s  steps 
to  the  dwelling  of  her  two  brothers,  who  had 
been  stolen  away  in  their  infancy.  Bellarius, 
who  stole  them  away,  was  a lord  in  the  court 
of  Cymbeline,  and  having  been  falsely  accused 
to  the  king  of  treason,  and  banished  from  the 
court,  in  revenge  he  stole  away  the  two  sons  of 
Cymbeline,  and  brought  them  up  in  a forest* 
where  he  lived  concealed  in  a cave.  He  stole 
them  through  revenge,  but  he  soon  loved  them 
as  tenderly  as  if  they  had  been  his  own  chil- 
dren, educated  them  carefully,  and  they  grew 
up  fine  youths,  their  princely  spirits  leading 
them  to  bold  and  daring  actions  ; and  as  they 
subsisted  by  hunting,  they  were  active  and 
hardy,  and  were  always  pressing  their  supposed 
father  to  let  them  seek  their  fortune  in  the 
wars. 

At  the  cave  where  these  youths  dwelt,  it  was 
Imogen’s  fortune  to  arrive.  She  had  lost  her 
way  in  a large  forest  through  which  her  road 


i88  TALES  FROM  SHA KSPE ARE. 


lay  to  Milford  Haven  (from  whence  she  meant 
to  embark  for  Rome)  : and  being  unable  to 
find  any  place  where  she  could  purchase  food, 
she  was  with  weariness  and  hunger  almost 
dying ; for  it  is  not  merely  putting  on  a man’s 
apparel  that  will  enable  a young  lady,  tenderly 
brought  up,  to  bear  the  fatigue  of  wandering 
about  lonely  forests  like  a man.  Seeing  this 
cave,  she  entered,  hoping  to  find  some  one 
within  of  whom  she  could  procure  food.  She 
found  the  cave  empty,  but  looking  about  she 
discovered  some  cold  meat,  and  her  hunger 
was  so  pressing,  that  she  could  not  wait  for 
an  invitation,  but  sat  down,  and  began  to  eat. 
“ Ah  ! ” said  she,  talking  to  herself,  “ I see  a 
man’s  life  is  a tedious  one  ; how  tired  am  I ! 
for  two  nights  together  I have  made  the  ground 
my  bed  : my  resolution  helps  me,  or  I should 
be  sick.  When  Pisanio  showed  me  Milford 
Haven  from  the  mountain-top,  how  near  it 
seemed  ! ” Then  the  thoughts  of  her  husband 
and  his  cruel  mandate  came  across  her,  and 
she  said,  “ My  dear  Posthumus,  thou  art  a 
false  one.” 

The  two  brothers  of  Imogen,  who  had  been 
hunting  with  their  reputed  father  Bellarius, 
were  by  this  time  returned  home.  Bellarius 
had  given  them  the  names  of  Polidore  and 
Cadwal,  and  they  knew  no  better,  but  sup- 
posed that  Bellarius  was  their  father  ; but  the 
real  names  of  these  princes  were  Guiderius  and 
Arviragus. 

Bellarius  entered  the  cave  first,  and  seeing 


C YMBELINE, 


189 

Imogen,  stopped  them,  saying,  “ Come  not  in 
yet ; it  eats  our  victuals,  or  I should  think 
that  it  was  a fairy.” 

“ What  is  the  matter,  sir  ? ” said  the  young 
men.  “ By  Jupiter,”  said  Bellarius  again, 
“ there  is  an  angel  in  the  cave,  or  if  not,  an 
earthly  paragon.”  So  beautiful  did  Imogen 
look  in  her  boy’s  apparel. 

She,  hearing  the  sound  of  voices,  came  forth 
from  the  cave,  and  addressed  them  in  these 
words : “ Good  masters,  do  not  harm  me  •, 
before  I entered  your  cave  I had  thought  to 
have  begged  or  bought  what  I have  eaten. 
Indeed  I have  stolen  nothing,  nor  would  I, 
though  I had  found  gold  strewed  on  the  floor. 
Here  is  money  for  my  meat,  which  I would 
have  left  on  the  board  when  I had  made  my 
meal,  and  parted  with  prayers  for  the  provider.” 
They  refused  her  money  with  great  earnest- 
ness. “ I see  you  are  angry  with  me,”  said 
the  timid  Imogen : “ but,  sirs,  if  you  kill  me 
for  my  fault,  know  that  I should  have  died  if 
I had  not  made  it.” 

“ Whither  are  you  bond  ? ” asked  Bellarius, 
“ and  what  is  your  name  ? ” 

“ Fidele  is  my  name,”  answered  Imogen. 
“ I have  a kinsman,  who  is  bound  for  Italy ; 
he  embarked  at  Milford  Haven,  to  whom  be- 
ing  going,  almost  spent  with  hunger,  I am  fallen 
into  this  offense.” 

“ Prithee,  fair  youth,”  said  old  Bellarius,  “ do 
not  think  us  churls,  nor  measure  our  good 
minds  by  this  rude  place  we  live  in.  You  are 


TALES  FROM  SHA  ICS  PE  A RE. 


190 

well  encountered ; it  is  almost  night.  You 
shall  have  better  cheer  before  you  depart,  and 
thanks  to  stay  and  eat  it.  Boys,  bid  him  wel- 
come. ” 

The  gentle  youths,  her  brothers,  then  wel- 
comed Imogen  to  their  cave  with  many  kind 
expressions,  saying  they  would  love  her  (or,  as 
they  said,  him)  as  a brother ; and  they  entered 
the  cave,  where  (they  having  killed  venison 
when  they  were  hunting)  Imogen  delighted 
them  with  her  neat  housewifery,  assisting  them 
in  preparing  their  supper ; for  though  it  is  not 
the  custom  now  for  young  women  of  high  birth 
to  understand  cookery,  it  was  then,  and  Imogen 
excelled  in  this  useful  art ; and,  as  her  brothers 
prettily  expressed  it,  Fidele  cut  their  roots  in 
characters,  and  sauced  their  broth,  as  if  Juno 
had  been  sick,  and  Fidele  were  her  dieter. 
“ And  then,”  said  Polidore  to  his  brother, 
“ how  angel-like  he  sings  ! ” 

They  also  remarked  to  each  other,  that 
though  Fidele  smiled  so  sweetly,  yet  so  sad  a 
melancholy  did  overcloud  his  lovely  face,  as  if 
grief  and  patience  had  together  taken  posses- 
sion of  him. 

For  these  her  gentle  qualities  (or  perhaps  it 
was  their  near  relationship,  though  they  knew 
it  not)  Imogen  (or,  as  the  boys  called  her, 
Fidele)  became  the  doting-piece  of  her 
brothers,  and  she  scarcely  less  loved  them, 
thinking  that  but  for  the  memory  of  her  dear 
Posthumus,  she  could  live  and  die  in  the  cave 
with  these  wild  forest  youths  ; and  she  gladly 


CYMBELINE.  191 

consented  to  stay  with  them,  till  she  was 
enough  rested  from  the  fatigue  of  traveling  to 
pursue  her  way  to  Milford  Haven. 

When  the  venison  they  had  taken  was  all 
eaten,  and  they  were  going  out  to  hunt  for 
more,  Fidele  could  not  accompany  them, 
because  she  was  unwell.  Sorrow,  no  doubt, 
for  her  husband’s  cruel  usage,  as  well  as  the 
fatigue  of  wandering  in  the  forest,  was  the 
cause  of  her  illness. 

They  then  bid  her  farewell,  and  went  to  their 
hunt,  praising  all  the  way  the  noble  parts  and 
graceful  demeanor  of  the  youth  Fidele. 

Imogen  was  no  sooner  left  alone  than  she 
recollected  the  cordial  Pisanio  had  given  her, 
and  drank  it  off,  and  presently  fell  into  a sound 
and  deadlike  sleep. 

When  Bellarius  and  her  brothers  returned 
from  hunting,  Polidore  went  first  into  the  cave, 
and  supposing  her  asleep,  pulled  off  his  heavy 
shoes,  that  he  might  tread  softly  and  not  awake 
her  ; so  did  true  gentleness  spring  up  in  the 
minds  of  these  princely  foresters  : but  he  soon 
discovered  that  she  could  not  be  awakened  by 
any  noise,  and  concluded  her  to  be  dead,  and 
Polidore  lamented  over  her  with  dear  and 
brotherly  regret,  as  if  they  had  never  from 
their  infancy  been  parted. 

Bellarius  also  proposed  to  carry  her  out  into 
the  forest,  and  there  celebrate  her  funeral  with 
songs  and  solemn  dirges,  as  was  then  the 
custom. 

Imogen’s  two  brothers  then  carried  her  to 


192 


TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 


a shady  covert,  and  there  laying  her  gently  on 
the  grass,  they  sang  repose  to  her  departed 
spirit,  and  covering  her  over  with  leaves  and 
flowers,  Polidore  said,  “ While  summer  lasts 
and  I live  here,  Fidele,  I will  daily  strew  thy 
sad  grave.  The  pale  primrose,  that  flower 
most  like  thy  face  ; the  bluebell,  like  thy  clear 
veins  ; and  the  leaf  of  eglantine,  which  is  not 
sweeter  than  was  thy  breath  ; all  these  I will 
strew  over  thee.  Yea,  and  the  furred  moss  in 
winter,  when  there  are  no  flowers  to  cover  thy 
sweet  corse.” 

When  they  had  finished  her  funeral  obse- 
quies, they  departed  very  sorrowful. 

Imogen  had  not  been  long  left  alone,  when, 
the  effect  of  the  sleepy  drug  going  off,  she 
awakened,  and  easily  shaking  off  the  slight 
covering  of  leaves  and  flowers  they  had  thrown 
over  her,  she  arose,  and  imagining  she  had 
been  dreaming,  she  said,  “ I thought  I was  a 
cave-keeper,  and  cook  to  honest  creatures; 
how  came  I here,  covered  with  flowers  ? ” Not 
being  able  to  find  her  way  back  to  the  cave, 
and  seeing  nothing  of  her  new  companions, 
she  concluded  it  was  certainly  all  a dream : 
and  once  more  Imogen  set  out  on  her  weary 
pilgrimage,  hoping  at  last  she  should  find  her 
way  to  Milford  Haven,  and  thence  get  a pas- 
sage in  some  ship  bound  for  Italy  ; for  all  her 
thoughts  were  still  with  her  husband  Post- 
humus, whom  she  intended  to  seek  in  the  dis- 
guise of  a page. 

But  great  events  were  happening  at  this 


C Y MB  E LINE. 


193 


time,  of  which  Imogen  knew  nothing;  for  a 
war  had  suddenly  broken  out  between  the 
Roman  Emperor  Augustus  Caesar,  and  Cymbe- 
line,  the  King  of  Britain  : and  a Roman  army 
had  landed  to  invade  Britain,  and  was  advanced 
into  the  very  forest  over  which  Imogen  was 
journeying.  With  this  army  came  Posthumus. 

Though  Posthumus  came  over  to  Britain 
with  the  Roman  army,  he  did  not  mean  to  fight 
on  their  side  against  his  own  countrymen,  but 
intended  to  join  the  army  of  Britain,  and  fight 
in  the  cause  of  his  king  who  had  banished 
him. 

He  still  believed  Imogen  false  to  him  ; yet 
the  death  of  her  he  had  so  fondly  loved,  and 
by  his  own  orders  too  (Pisanio  having  written 
him  a letter  to  say  he  had  obeyed  his  com- 
mand, and  that  Imogen  was  dead),  sat  heavy 
on  his  heart,  and  therefore  he  returned  to 
Britain,  desiring  either  to  be  slain  in  battle,  or 
to  be  put  to  death  by  Cymbeline  for  returning 
home  from  banishment. 

Imogen,  before  she  reached  Milford  Haven, 
fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Roman  army  ; and 
her  presence  and  deportment  recommending 
her,  she  was  made  a page  to  Lucius,  the  Roman 
general. 

Cymbeline’s  army  now  advanced  to  meet  the 
enemy,  and  when  they  entered  this  forest, 
Polidore  and  Cadwal  joined  the  king’s  army. 
The  young  men  were  eager  to  engage  in  acts 
of  valor,  though  they  little  thought  they  were 
going  to  fight  for  their  own  royal  father  : and 
x3 


194  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE. 

old  Bellarius  went  with  them  to  the  battle. 
He  had  long  since  repented  of  the  injury  he 
had  done  to  Cymbeline  in  carrying  away  his 
sons  ; and  having  been  a warrior  in  his  youth, 
he  gladly  joined  the  army  to  fight  for  the  king 
he  had  so  injured. 

And  now  a great  battle  commenced  between 
the  armies,  and  the  Britons  would  have  been 
defeated,  and  Cymbeline  himself  killed,  but 
for  the  extraordinary  valor  of  Posthumus  and 
Bellarius,  and  the  two  sons  of  Cymbeline. 
They  rescued  the  king,  and  saved  his  life,  and 
so  entirely  turned  the  fortune  of  the  day  that 
the  Britons  gained  the  victory. 

When  the  battle  was  over,  Posthumus,  who 
had  not  found  the  death  he  sought  for,  sur- 
rendered himself  up  to  one  of  the  officers  of 
Cymbeline,  willing  to  suffer  the  death  which 
was  to  be  his  punishment  if  he  returned  from 
banishment. 

Imogen  and  the  master  she  served  were 
taken  prisoners,  and  brought  before  Cymbeline, 
as  was  also  her  old  enemy  Iachimo,  who  was 
an  officer  in  the  Roman  army  ; and  when  these 
prisoners  were  before  the  king,  Posthumus  was 
brought  in  to  receive  his  sentence  of  death ; 
and  at  this  strange  juncture  of  time,  Bellarius 
with  Polidore  and  Cadwal  were  also  brought 
before  Cymbeline,  to  receive  the  rewards  due 
to  the  great  services  they  had  by  their  valor 
done  for  the  king.  Pisanio,  being  one  of  the 
king’s  attendants,  was  likewise  present. 

Therefore  there  was  now  standing  in  the 


CYMBELINE. 


*95 


king’s  presence  (but  with  very  different  hopes 
and  fears)  Posthumus  and  Imogen,  with  her 
new  master  the  Roman  general;  the  faithful 
servant  Pisanio,  and  the  false  friend  Iachimo  ; 
and  likewise  the  two  lost  sons  of  Cymbeline, 
with  Bellarius,  who  had  stolen  them  away. 

The  Roman  general  was  the  first  who  spoke  ; 
the  rest  stood  silent  before  the  king,  though 
there  was  many  a beating  heart  among  them, 

Imogen  saw  Posthumus  and  knew  him, 
though  he  was  in  the  disguise  of  a peasant  ; 
but  he  did  not  know  her  in  her  male  attire  ; 
and  she  knew  Iachimo,  and  she  saw  a ring  on 
his  finger  which  she  perceived  to  be  her  own, 
but  she  did  not  know  him  as  yet  to  have  been 
the  author  of  all  her  troubles  : and  she  stood 
before  her  own  father  a prisoner  of  war. 

Pisanio  knew  Imogen,  for  it  was  he  who  had 
dressed  her  in  the  garb  of  a boy.  “ It  is  my 
mistress,”  thought  he  ; “ since  she  is  living,  let 
the  time  run  on  to  good  or  bad.”  Bellarius 
knew  her  too,  and  softly  said  to  Cadwal,  “ Is 
not  this  boy  revived  from  death  ? ” “ One 

sand,”  replied  Cadwal,  “ does  not  more  resem- 
ble another  than  that  sweet  rosy  lad  is  like  the 
dead  Fidele.”  “ The  same  dead  thing  alive,” 
said  Polidore.  “ Peace,  peace,”  said  Bellarius  ; 
“ if  it  were  he,  I am  sure  he  would  have  spoken 
to  us.”  “ But  we  saw  him  dead,”  again  whis- 
pered Polidore.  “ Be  silent,”  replied  Bellarius. 

Posthumus  waited  in  silence  to  hear  the 
welcome  sentence  of  his  own  death  ; and  he 
resolved  not  to  disclose  to  the  king  that  he 


196  TALES  FROM  SHAKSPEARE . 

had  saved  his  life  in  the  battle,  lest  that  should 
move  Cymbeline  to  pardon  him. 

Lucius,  the  Roman  general,  who  had  taken 
Imogen  under  his  protection  as  his  page,  was 
the  first  (as  has  been  before  said)  who  spoke 
to  the  king.  He  was  a man  of  high  courage 
and  noble  dignity,  and  this  was  his  speech  to 
the  king : 

“ I hear  you  take  no  ransom  for  your  prisoners, 
but  doom  them  all  to  death  : I am  a Roman, 
and  with  a Roman  heart  will  suffer  death. 
But  there  is  one  thing  for  which  I would 
entreat.”  Then  bringing  Imogen  before  the 
king,  he  said,  “This  boy  is  a Briton  born. 
Let  him  be  ransomed.  He  is  my  page.  Never 
master  had  a page  so  kind,  so  duteous,  so  dili- 
gent on  all  occasions,  so  true,  so  nurse-like. 
He  hath  done  no  Briton  wrong,  though  he 
hath  served  a Roman.  Save  him,  if  you  spare 
no  one  beside.” 

Cymbeline  looked  earnestly  on  his  daughter 
Imogen.  He  knew  her  not  in  that  diguise  ; 
but  it  seemed  that  all-powerful  nature  speak  in 
his  heart,  for  he  said,  “ I have  surely  seen  him, 
his  face  appears  familiar  to  me.  I know  not 
why  or  wherefore  I say,  Live,  boy  ; but  I give 
you  your  life,  and  ask  of  me  what  boon  you 
will,  and  I will  grant  it  you.  Yea,  even  though 
it  be  the  life  of  the  noblest  prisoner  I have.” 

“ I humbly  thank  your  highness,”  said 
Imogen. 

What  was  then  called  granting  a boon  was 
the  same  as  a promise  to  give  any  one  thing, 


CYMBELINE. 


x97 


whatever  it  might  be,  that  the  person  on  whom 
the  favor  was  conferred  chose  to  ask  for. 
They  all  were  attentive  to  hear  what  thing  the 
page  would  ask  for  ; and  Lucius  her  master 
said  to  her,  “ I do  not  beg  my  life,  good  lad, 
but  I know  that  is  what  you  will  ask  for.”  “ No, 
no,  alas  ! ” said  Imogen,  “ I have  other  work 
in  hand,  good  master  ; your  life  I cannot  ask 
for.” 

This  seeming  want  of  gratitude  in  the  boy 
astonished  the  Roman  general. 

Imogen  then,  fixing  her  eye  on  Iachimo,  de- 
manded no  other  boon  than  this,  that  Iachmio 
should  be  made  to  confess  whence  he  had  the 
ring  he  wore  on  his  finger. 

Cymbeline  granted  her  this  boon,  and 
threatened  Iachimo  with  the  torture  if  he  did 
not  confess  how  he  came  by  the  diamond  ring 
on  his  finger. 

Iachimo  then  made  a full  acknowledgment 
of  all  his  villany,  telling,  as  has  been  before 
related,  the  whole  story  of  his  wager  with 
Posthumus,  and  how  he  had  succeeded  in  im- 
posing upon  his  credulity. 

What  Poshumus  felt  at  hearing  this  proof  of 
the  innocence  of  his  lady,  cannot  be  expressed. 
He  instantly  came  forward,  and  confessed  to 
Cymbeline  the  cruel  sentence  which  he  had 
enjoined  Pisanio  to  execute  upon  the  princess  ; 
exclaiming  wildly,  “ O Imogen,  my  queen,  my 
life,  my  wife  ! 0 Imogen,  Imogen,  Imogen  ! ” 

Imogen  could  not  see  her  beloved  husband 
in  this  distress  without  discovering  herself,  to 


198  TALES  FROM  SH A KSPE ARE. 


the  unutterable  joy  of  Posthumus,  who  was 
thus  relieved  from  a weight  of  guilt  and  woe, 
and  restored  to  the  good  graces  of  the  dear 
lady  he  had  so  cruelly  treated. 

Cymbeline,  almost  as  much  overwhelmed  as 
he  with  joy  at  finding  his  lost  daughter  so 
strangely  recovered,  received  her  to  her  former 
place  in  his  fatherly  affection,  and  not  only 
gave  her  husband  Posthumus  his  life,  but  con- 
sented to  acknowledge  him  for  his  son-in-law. 

Bellarius  chose  this  time  of  joy  and  recon- 
ciliation to  make  his  confession.  He  presented 
Polidore  and  Cadwal  to  the  king,  telling  him 
they  were  his  two  lost  sons,  Guiderius  and 
Arviragus. 

Cymbeline  forgave  old  Bellarius  ; for  who 
could  think  of  punishment  at  a season  of  such 
universal  happiness  ? To  find  his  daughter 
living,  and  his  lost  sons  in  the  persons  of  his 
young  deliverers,  that  he  had  seen  so  bravely 
fight  in  his  defense,  was  unlooked-for  joy 
indeed ! 

Imogen  was  now  at  leisure  to  perform  good 
services  for  her  late  master,  the  Roman  general 
Lucius,  whose  life  the  king  her  father  readily 
granted  at  her  request ; and  by  the  meditation 
of  the  same  Lucius  a peace  was  concluded 
between  the  Romans  and  the  Britons,  which 
was  kept  inviolate  many  years. 

How  Cymbeline’s  wicked  queen,  through 
despair  of  bringing  her  projects  to  pass,  a»d 
touched  with  remorse  of  conscience,  sickened 
and  died,  having  first  lived  to  see  her  foolish 


CYMBELINE. 


199 


son  Cloten  slain  in  a quarrel  which  he  had 
provoked,  are  events  too  tragical  to  interrupt 
this  happy  conclusion  by  more  than  merely 
touching  upon.  It  is  sufficient  that  all  were 
made  happy,  who  were  deserving  ; and  even 
the  treacherous  Iachimo,  in  consideration  of 
his  villany  having  missed  its  final  aim,  was 
dismissed  without  punishment. 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


After  all  the  laborious  research  which  has 
been  expended  on  the  subject  of  Shakspeare’s 
biography,  few  particulars  are  known  on  those 
points  which  would  be  most  gratifying  to  the 
curiosity  of  his  rational  admirers.  We  may 
trace  his  ancestors  to  the  doomsday  book,  and 
his  posterity  till  they  dwindle  into  tongueless 
obscurity ; but  of  his  own  habits  and  domestic 
character  we  know  comparatively  nothing. 
During  his  early  days,  his  path  of  life  was  so 
humble,  that  all  our  inquiries  necessarily 
terminate  in  disappointment ; and  of  the  more 
busy  periods  of  his  existence,  when  he  wrote 
for  the  stage,  and  was  the  public  favorite, 
his  remarkable  humility  of  mind  and  manners 
induced  him  to  avoid  the  eye  of  notoriety; 
and,  unfortunately,  there  was  no  Boswell  or 
Medwin  to  make  memoranda  of  his  conversa- 
tions, or  transmit  to  our  times  a facsimile  of 
the  great  dramatist  in  the  familiar  moments  of 
relaxation  and  friendly  intercourse.  Such 
hiatuses  in  the  life  of  Shakspeare  cannot  be 
now  supplied ; now  about  two  hundred  years 
have  elapsed  since  his  mortal  remains  were 
left  to  molder  beneath  a tomb,  over  which 
Time  has  shaken  the  dust  of  his  wings  too 

201 


202 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE . 


often  to  allow  of  our  recovering  details,  local 
and  fugitive,  however  interesting.  Rowe  was 
the  first  whose  researches  elicited  anything 
like  a satisfactory  memoir  of  our  great  bard. 
Poets  and  critics  have  laboriously  retrodden 
his  steps  ; the  genius  of  Pope  and  the  acumen 
of  Johnson  have  been  employed  on  the  same 
subject,  but  the  sun  of  their  adoration  had 
gone  down  before  their  intellectual  telescopes 
were  levelled  to  discover  its  perfections. 
Malone  has  done  the  most,  and  appears 
indeed  to  have  exhausted  the  subject;  but, 
from  inadvertency  or  carelessness,  he  has 
overlooked  many  particulars  which  deserve 
preservation.1  Having  turned  over  a variety 
of  books,  and  consulted  every  accessible 
authority,  we  shall  attempt  to  condense,  under 
one  head,  such  recollections  of  Shakspeare  as 
are  at  present  scattered  over  many  volumes, 
as  well  as  the  more  obvious  and  familiar 
portions  of  his  history. 

It  appears  a family  designated  indifferently 
Shaxper,  Shakespeare , Shakspere  and  Shaks- 
peare, were  well-known  in  Warwickshire  during 
the  sixteenth  century.  Rowe  says  : “ It  seems 
by  the  register  and  other  public  writings  of 
Stratford,  that  the  poet’s  family  were  of  good 
figure  and  fashion  there,  and  are  mentioned 
as  gentlemen.” 

1 Since  the  above  was  written,  some  forty  years  ago, 
a much  abler  critic  and  investigator  has  come  forward 
to  illustrate  the  somewhat  dim  knowledge  hitherto 
existing  of  Shakspeare’s  family, — Charles  Knight. 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


203 


This  account  turns  out  to  be  very  incorrect ; 
for  on  reference  to  the  authorities  cited,  we 
find  that  the  Shakspeares,  though  their  property 
was  respectable,  never  rose  above  the  rank  of 
tradesmen  or  husbandmen.  Nothing  is  known 
of  the  immediate  ancestors  of  John  Shakspeare, 
the  poet’s  father,  who  was  originally  a glover, 
afterwards  a butcher , and  in  the  last  place,  a 
wool-stapler , in  the  town  of  Stratford.  Being 
very  industrious,  his  wealth  gave  him  impor- 
tance among  his  neighbors,  and  having  served 
various  offices  in  the  borough  with  credit, 
he  ultimately  obtained  its  supreme  municipal 
honors,  being  elected  high-bailiff,  at  Michael- 
mas, 1568.  His  town-folks  no  doubt  consid- 
ered this  thje  summit  of  earthly  felicity  ; but 
however  reverend  the  corporation  of  Stratford 
in  its  own  estimation,  we  cannot  but  smile  at 
these  erudite  sages,  out  of  nmeteejt  of  whom, 
as  we  find  from  their  signatures,  attached  to  a 
public  document,  1564,  only  seven  were  able  to 
write  their  names.  While  chief  magistrate  of 
the  borough,  and  on  his  marriage  with  Mary 
Arden,  he  obtained  a grant  of  arms  from  the 
Herald’s  College,  and  was  allowed  to  impale 
his  own  achievement  with  that  of  the  ancient 
family  of  the  Ardens. 

In  the  deed  respecting  John  Shakspeare,  his 
property  is  declared  to  be  worth  five  hundred 
pounds,  a sum  by  no  means  inconsiderable  in 
those  days  ; and,  on  the  whole,  we  have  suffi- 
cient evidence  of  his  worldly  prosperity. 
From  some  unexplained  causes,  however,  his 


204 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


affairs  began  to  alter  for  the  worse  about  1574, 
and  after  employing  such  expedients  to  relieve 
his  growing  necessities  as  in  the  end  served 
only  to  aggravate  them,  he  at  length  fell  into 
such  extreme  poverty  that  he  was  obliged  to 
give  security  for  a debt  of  five  pounds  ; and  a 
distress  issuing  for  the  seizure  of  his  goods,  it 
was  returned  : “ Joh’es  Shakspere  nihil  habet 
unde  distr.  potest  levari.”  (John  Shakspere 
has  no  effects  on  which  a distraint  can  be 
levied.)  During  the  last  ten  years  of  his  life 
we  have  no  particular  account  of  his  circum- 
stances ; but,  as  in  1597  he  describes  himself 
as  “of  very  small  wealth  and  very  few  friends,” 
we  may  justly  suppose  that  he  remained  in 
great  indigence.  He  seems  indeed  to  have 
fallen  into  decay  with  his  native  town,  the  trade 
of  which  was  almost  ruined ; as  we  may  learn 
from  the  application  of  the  burgesses  in  1590* 
The  town  had  then  “ fallen  into  much  decay, 
for  want  of  such  trade  as  heretofore  they  had  by 
clothing,  and  making  of  yarn,  employing  and 
maintaining  a number  of  poor  people  by  the 
same,  which  now  live  in  great  penury  and 
misery,  by  reason  they  are  not  set  to  work  as 
before  they  have  been.” 

John  Shakspeare  died  in  1601.  His  family 
consisted  of  eight  children , Jane,  Margaret, 
William,  Gilbert,  Lorie,  Anne,  Richard,  and 
Edmund.  Lorie  and  Margaret  died  when  but 
a few  months  old.  Of  Gilbert  nothing  is  known 
but  the  register  of  his  baptism.  Jane  married 
one  Hart,  a hatter  of  Stratford,  and  died  in 


LIFE  OF  S HA  KS PE  A RE. 


205 


1646,  leaving  three  sons.  She  is  mentioned 
with  much  kindness  in  her  illustrious  brother’s 
will  ; and  the  descendants  of  her  children 
were  to  be  found  in  Stratford  within  these  few 
years.  In  1749,  a house  of  Shakspeare’s,  in 
Henly  Street,  belonged  to  Thomas  Hart,  a 
butcher,  and  the  sixth  in  descent  from  Jane. 
Anne  Shakspeare,  died  an  infant ; Richard, 
according  to  the  parish  register,  was  buried  in 
1612.  Edmund  Shakspeare,  actuated  probably 
by  his  brother’s  reputation  at  the  theater,  be- 
came an  actor ; he  performed  at  the  Globe, 
lived  in  St.  Saviour’s,  Southwark,  and  was  in- 
terred in  the  churchyard  of  that  parish,  on  the 
31st  of  December,  1606. 

William  Shakspeare  was  born  April  23d, 
1564,  at  Stratford-upon-Avon.  The  house  in 
which  the  poet  first  saw  the  light  was  bought, 
in  1597,  from  a family  of  the  name  of  Under- 
hill. It  had  been  called  the  great  house , not 
because  it  is  really  large,  but  on  account  of  its 
having  been  at  that  time  the  best  in  the  town. 
In  its  present  dilapidated  state,  the  ablest 
artists  have  exerted  their  skill  to  preserve  the 
outline  of  so  remarkable  a building  for  the 
gratification  of  posterity,  and  the  most  minute 
particulars  concerning  it  have  been  collected 
with  the  utmost  avidity. 

The  chamber , in  which  our  unrivalled  dram- 
atist is  said  to  have  drawn  his  first  breath,  is 
penciled  over  with  the  names  of  innumer- 
able visitors  in  every  grade  of  life.  Royalty 
has  been  proud  to  pay  this  simple  tribute  to 


206 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


exalted  intellect ; and  Genius  has  paused  in 
its  triumphs,  to  inscribe  these  hallowed  walls 
with  the  brief  sentences  which  record  its  love 
and  veneration  for  the  wonderful  man  who 
once  recognized  this  lowly  tenement  as  his 
home . The  following  lines  are  ascribed  to 
Lucien  Buonaparte,  who  during  his  stay  in 
England  made  an  excursion  into  Warwickshire, 
expressly  to  gratify  his  curiosity  respecting 
our  all-praised  Shakspeare  : 

“ The  eye  of  Genius  glistens  to  admire 

How  memory  hails  the  sound  of  Shakspeare’ s lyre. 
One  tear  I’ll  shed  to  form  a crystal  shrine 
Of  all  that’s  grand,  immortal,  and  divine. 

Let  princes  o’er  their  subject  kingdoms  rule; 

’Tis  Shakspeare’s  province  to  command  the  soul ! 

To  add  one  leaf,  oh,  Shakspeare  ! to  thy  bays, 

How  vain  the  effort,  and  how  mean  my  lays  ! 
Immortal  Shakspeare  ! o’er  thy  hallow’d  page, 

Age  becomes  taught,  and  youth  is  e’en  made  sage.” 

This  house,  so  venerable  on  account  of  its 
former  inmate,  is  now  divided,  one  part  being 
a butcher’s  shop,  and  the  other  a public-house. 

Of  Shakspeare’s  infancy  we  know  nothing, 
except  that  he  narrowly  escaped  falling  a 
victim  to  the  plague,  which  at  that  time  almost 
depopulated  his  native  town.  We  next  find 
him  at  the  free  grammar-school  of  Stratford, 
where  we  may  suppose  he  acquired  the 
“ small  Latin  and  less  Greek”  for  which  Ben 
Jonson  gives  him  credit.  But  even  this  im- 
perfect species  of  education  was  soon  inter- 
rupted, the  poverty  of  his  father  presenting  an 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE . 207 

insurmountable  obstacle  to  his  further  prog- 
ress. There  can  be  little  doubt,  however, 
that  his  quick  and  apprehensive  mind  would 
profit  materially  even  by  this  limited  supply 
of  instruction.  In  after  life,  he  seems  to  have 
been  acquainted  with  Italian  and  French,  but 
these  languages  he  probably  acquired  through 
his  own  unassisted  industry.  He  now  for  a 
considerable  period  remained  at  home,  and  at- 
tended to  his  father’s  occupation,  that  of  a 
butcher ; and  Aubrey,  an  author  in  whom  we 
should  not  put  implicit  confidence,  relates  that 
young  Shakspeare  killed  a calf  “ in  high  style,” 
and  graced  the  slaughter  with  an  oration. 
The  same  writer  informs  us,  that  growing  dis- 
gusted with  this  employment,  he  commenced 
schoolmaster,  but  this,  from  his  juvenility  at 
the  time  mentioned,  is  highly  improbable. 

Shakspeare’s  eighteenth  year  was  scarcely 
passed  when,  relinquishing  his  school,  or  his 
office  (for  Malone  makes  him  an  attorney’s 
clerk),  he  ventured  to  contract  that  important 
engagement  on  which  the  happiness  or  misery 
of  life  generally  turns.  He  selected  for  his 
wife  Anne  Hathaway,  the  daughter  of  a repu- 
table yeoman  in  the  vicinity  of  Stratford.  At 
her  marriage,  she  was  eight  years  older  than 
her  husband,  and  Shakspeare’s  domestic  felic- 
ity does  not  appear  to  have  been  advanced 
by  the  connection.  In  the  year  following, 
1583,  his  daughter  Susanna  was  born  : and  in 
eighteen  months  afterwards  his  wife  bore  him 
twins,  a boy  and  a girl,  baptized  by  the  name 


208 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


of  Hamnet  and  Judith.  This  was  the  whole 
of  the  poet’s  family  ; from  which  we  are  per- 
haps justified  in  concluding,  as  there  are  other 
circumstances  to  strengthen  the  opinion,  that 
his  connubial  lot  was  not  enviable ; indeed, 
his  wife’s  years  were  so  ill-assorted  to  his  own, 
that  little  congeniality  of  sentiment  was  to  be 
expected.  Hamnet,  Shakespeare’s  only  son, 
died  at  the  early  age  of  twelve  years,  an  event 
long  and  deeply  regretted : the  daughters, 
Susanna  and  Judith,  were  married,  and  had 
children.  Shakspeare’s  last  lineal  descendant 
was  Lady  Barnard,  buried,  in  1670,  at  Abing- 
don, in  Berkshire.  Some  branches  of  the 
family  still  exist,  and  are  resident  at  Tewkes- 
bury and  Stratford ; they  are  in  great  indi- 
gence, and  it  reflects  disgrace  on  the  age,  that 
a proposal  for  their  benefit,  recently  made,  re- 
ceived hardly  any  attention.  Surely,  when  our 
nobility  patronize  the  refuse  of  society,  in  the 
shape  of  pedestrians  and  pugilists,  their  gen- 
erosity might  be  exercised  in  succoring  those 
who  claim  kindred  with  him  who  was  the  glory 
of  his  country  and  of  human  nature. 

The  inhabitants  of  Shakspeare’s  native  town 
were  passionately  fond  of  dramatic  entertain- 
ments. Traveling  companies  of  players  ap- 
pear to  have  visited  Stratford  on  more  than 
twenty  occasions  between  1569  (when  the  poet 
was  under  six  years  of  age)  and  1587.  Bur- 
bage and  Green,  two  celebrated  actors,  were 
his  townsmen,  and  even  from  childhood  his 
attention  must  have  been  attracted  to  the 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


209 


stage,  by  the  powerful  influence  of  novelty, 
and  in  all  probability,  by  his  personal  acquaint- 
ance with  some  of  the  comedians.  When, 
therefore,  his  views  in  life  were  unavoidably 
altered,  it  was  natural  that  the  theater  should 
present  itself  to  his  mind  as  his  best  asylum  ; 
and  directing  his  fugitive  steps  to  the  metro- 
polis, he  became  a player,  and,  in  the  end,  a 
writer  for  the  stage.  The  tale  of  Shakspeare’s 
attending  at  the  Globe,  on  his  first  arrival  at 
London,  to  take  the  charge  of  gentlemen’s 
horses  during  the  performance,  is  much 
doubted  at  present ; but  it  seems  likely  that 
the  first  office  he  held  in  the  theater  was  that 
of  call-boy , or  prompter’s  attendant.  He  did 
not  long  continue  in  that  capacity,  being  soon 
admitted  to  perform  minor  parts  in  the  popular 
plays  of  that  period. 

Shakspeare  followed  the  profession  of  an 
actor  upwards  of  seventeen  years,  and  till 
within  about  thirteen  years  of  his  death  ; but 
we  have  good  reason  to  suppose  that  six  shill- 
ings and  eightpencea  week  was  the  highest  reward 
of  his  dramatic  efforts.  Of  his  merit  as  a 
player,  we  have  no  positive  data  on  which  to 
found  an  estimate,  and  accordingly  there  is 
great  difference  of  opinion  among  the  critics. 
Tragedians  and  dramatists  were  not  then  so 
jealously  watched  as  at  present : diurnal  re- 
viewers were  unknown,  and  an  actor’s  fame 
depended  entirely  on  the  caprice  of  judges, 
who  were  too  frequently  very  incompetent  to 
form  a correct  decision.  From  some  satirical 
14 


210 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


passages  in  the  writings  of  his  contemporaries, 
we  may  fairly  suppose  that  he  was  not  a favo- 
rite performer  with  the  public.  His  instruc- 
tions to  the  players  in  Hamlet,  however,  be- 
speak such  mastery  in  their  art,  and  are  in 
themselves  so  excellent,  that  we  are  strongly 
inclined  to  believe  that  his  unpopularity  must 
be  attributed  more  to  the  bad  taste  of  his  au- 
ditors than  to  the  deficiency  of  his  own  powers. 
Acting,  considered  as  a science,  was  then  in 
its  infancy  ; he  that  “ strutted  and  bellowed  ” 
most  would  be  esteemed  the  best  actor. 
Shakspeare’s  adherence  to  nature  would  be 
misunderstood,  and  his  gentleness  would  be 
censured  as  tameness. 

The  only  characters  which  we  know  with 
certainty  to  have  been  personated  by  Shak- 
speare  are  the  Ghost  in  Hamlet , and  Adam  in 
As  You  Like  It : his  name  appears  in  the  list 
of  players  attached  to  Ben  Jonson’s  Sejanus , 
and  Every  man  in  his  Humor  ; but  it  is  suffi- 
ciently evident  that  he  never  sustained  any 
very  important  part,  and,  but  for  his  genius  as 
a poet,  which  neither  indigence  nor  obscurity 
could  repress,  that  name,  which  we  now  repeat 
with  reverence  and  love,  would  have  been  lost 
in  the  darkness  of  oblivion.  That  Shakspeare 
was  not  more  successful  on  the  stage  might 
arise  from  the  injustice  and  false  taste  of  his 
audience  : but  this  is  hardly  to  be  lamented, 
since,  had  he  been  eminent  as  an  actor,  he 
would  probably  have  neglected  composition. 
“ It  may  indeed  be  considered  (says  Dr.  Drake) 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE . 


2 1 1 


as  a most  fortunate  circumstance  for  the  lovers 
of  dramatic  poetry,  that  our  author,  in  point 
of  execution,  did  not  attain  to  the  loftiest  sum- 
mit of  his  profession.  He  would  in  that  case, 
it  is  very  probable,  have  either  sat  down  con- 
tented with  the  high  reputation  accruing  to 
him  from  this  source,  or  would  have  found  lit- 
tle time  for  the  labors  of  composition,  and 
consequently  we  should  have  been  in  a great 
degree,  if  not  altogether,  deprived  of  what 
now  constitutes  the  noblest  efforts  of  human 
genius.” 

Despised  as  an  actor,  Shakspeare  aspired  to 
distinction  as  an  author  ; and  notwithstanding 
his  mighty  capacity,  he  was  for  a long  time  con- 
tent with  altering  and  revising  the  productions 
of  others.  Of  the  dramas  produced  previous 
to  1 600, there  were  some  which  abounded  with 
felicitous  ideas  and  effective  situations  ; but 
the  writers  had  used  their  materials  with  little 
skill,  and  the  touch  of  a master  was  required 
to  reduce  them  to  order  and  consistency.  The 
noblest  geniuses  of  the  age  did  not  refuse  such 
employment.  Decker,  Rowley,  Heywood,  and 
Jonson,  were  often  occupied  in  conferring 
value  on  such  productions ; and  to  this  un- 
thankful labor  the  early  efforts  of  our  bard 
were  modestly  confined. 

Dramatists  were,  generally  speaking,  abjectly 
poor  ; they  were  enthralled  by  managers,  either 
for  past  favors,  exisiting  debts,  or  the  well- 
founded  apprehension  of  needing  their  assist- 
ance. What  can  be  more  affecting,  than  to 


212 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


find  the  illustrious  Ben  Jonson  supplicating 
from  Henslowe  the  advance  of  a sum  so  paltry 
as  “ five  shillings  ? ” The  calling  Shakspeare 
embraced  was,  in  a majority  of  instances,  any- 
thing rather  than  profitable  : his  mighty  mind 
could  scarcely  have  selected  any  sphere  of 
action  more  barren  of  reward  : but  the  camp, 
the  senate,  and  the  bar,  were  then  almost  ex- 
clusively filled  by  the  young  scions  of  nobility  ; 
and  preferring  to  be  first  among  his  brother 
authors,  however  humble  their  prospects,  he 
poured  out  ail  the  wealth  of  his  intellect  on 
the  stage,  and  laid  the  foundation  of  a renown, 
which  is  perpetually  increasing,  and  is  never 
likely  to  be  equalled. 

No  potion  of  Shakspeare’s  history. is  more 
obscure  than  the  period  at  which  he  first  ven- 
tured to  rely  on  the  resources  of  his  own  mind, 
and  produce  an  original  drama  on  the  stage 
which  he  had  so  often  trod  unnoticed.  Every 
attempt  to  select  from  the  long  list  of  his 
wonderful  productions  the  one  which  had 
paved  the  way  for  his  future  eminence,  his 
maiden  effort  in  the  arepa  of  his  coming  glories, 
has  ended  in  uncertainty  and  disappointment. 
The  two  Gentlemen  of  Verona  and  the  Comedy 
of  Errors  have  been  pitched  upon,  but  almost 
any  of  his  other  plays  might  have  been  chosen 
with  an  equal  approximation  to  truth.  Our 
bard,  however,  was  well  known  as  a dramatic 
writer  in  1592,  and  there  is  reason  to  suppose 
that  all  his  compositions  for  the  stage  were 
written  between  1590  and  1613,  a period  of 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE . 


213 


about  twenty-three  years.  And  when  it  is  con- 
sidered that  we  possess  thirty  of  his  plays, 
which  are  indisputably  genuine,  besides  several, 
the  authenticity  of  which  is  doubtful,  the  mar- 
vellous power  and  range  of  his  intellect  will 
be  sufficiently  evident.  According  to  the 
chronological  order  in  which  the  critics  have 
placed  his  dramas,  his  genius  appears  in  full 
vigor  from  its  first  flight  to  the  moment  when  its 
eagle  pinions  became  quiescent  forever.  A 
Midsummer  Night's  Dream  is  the  second  in- 
scription on  the  luminous  column  of  his  re- 
nown. Othello , The  Tempest , and  Twelfth 
Night , are  engraven  in  characters  of  light  on 
its  base.  Other  minds  have  had  their  infancy, 
their  maturity,  and  their  decline.  In  other 
intellects,  even  the  most  resplendent,  we 
observe  the  unfoldings  of  genius,  as  of  the 
gradual  unfolding  of  the  morning’s  light,  its 
maturity  as  of  the  full  blaze  of  noon,  and  its 
decline  and  decay  as  the  twilight  of  evening 
and  the  darkness  of  night.  Milton  wrote 
Samson  Agonistes  before  Paradise  Lost , and 
Paradise  Regained  after  it  ; but  the  rise,  prog- 
ress, and  termination  of  Shakspeare’s  brilliant 
career  were  equally  glorious.  In  combining 
author  and  actor  in  his  own  person,  the  dram- 
atist might  in  some  degree  alleviate  his  pecu- 
niary difficulties,  but  it  could  scarcely  have 
redeemed  him  from  the  indigence  under  which 
his  brother  writers  were  suffering ; yet  his 
superlative  merit  as  a poet  soon  advanced 
him  in  the  regard  of  the  great  and  the  noble. 


2 14 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE . 


The  players  in  his  time  were  constantly  denom- 
inated and  treated  as  servants ; and  when  the 
actor’s  duty  made  his  presence  necessary  at 
his  patron’s  mansion,  the  buttery  was  the  only 
place  to  which  he  expected  admittance.  On 
the  contrary,  the  friendship  of  the  dramatist 
was  frequently  sought  by  the  opulent  ; even 
noblemen  made  him  their  companion,  and 
chose  him  at  once  as  the  object  of  bounty  and 
esteem.  In  this  manner,  Shakspeare  became 
the  bosom  associate  of  the  all-accomplished 
Lord  Southampton.  That  nobleman’s  father- 
in-law,  Sir  Thomas  Heminge,  was  treasurer  of 
the  queen’s  chamber,  in  which  capacity  it  was 
his  duty  to  reward  the  actors  employed  at 
court  : thus  plays  and  players  were  almost 
forced  upon  the  notice  of  Lord  Southampton, 
and  the  hold  theatrical  amusements  had  on 
his  mind  is  evident,  even  at  a late  period  of 
his  life,  from  his  shunning  the  court  for  a 
diurnal  attendance  at  the  Globe ; his  entertain- 
ment of  Cecil  with  “ plaies,”  and  his  ordering 
Richard  II.  to  be  performed  on  the  night 
previous  to  the  rebellion  of  the  Earl  of  Essex. 
Shakspeare’s  intimacy  with  Southampton  com- 
menced when  the  latter  was  about  twenty 
years  of  age,  and  from  the  dedications  prefixed 
to  Venus  and  Adonis  in  1593,  and  the  Rape  of 
Lucrece  in  1594,  it  is  apparent  that  their 
friendship  was  cemented  by  great  liberality  in 
the  patron  and  lively  gratitude  in  the  poet. 

Rowe,  on  the  authority  of  Davenant,  relates, 
that  in  order  to  enable  Shakspeare  to  complete 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE . 


2I5 


a purchase,  Southampton  at  once  presented 
him  with  a thousand  pounds,  a gift  truly 
princely.  The  tradition  deserves  credit  from 
the  wealth  which  the  dramatist  is  known  to 
have  possessed  a few  years  subsequently  to 
his  arrival  in  London;  for  it  is  contrary  to 
probability  that  his  opulence  could  have  arisen 
from  his  emoluments,  either  as  actor  or  author. 
All  his  original  productions  were  sold  abso- 
lutely to  the  theater,  and  the  gain  accruing  from 
them  could  not  have  been  large,  as  he  neither 
published  his  plays,  nor  received  advantage 
from  their  dedication  to  the  wealthy.  Some 
of  his  dramas  were  printed  in  his  lifetime ; 
but  this  was  done  surreptitiously,  and  was  at 
once  a fraud  on  author,  proprietor,  and  reader. 

Of  Shakspeare’s  comparative  opulence  there 
can  be  no  doubt;  in  1597,  he  purchased  New 
Place,  the  most  respectable  mansion  in  his 
native  Stratford,  and  went  to  considerable  ex- 
pense in  alterations  and  repairs. 

In  the  succeeding  year,  we  find  Richard 
Quyney,  a townsman,  applying  to  him  as  a 
person  of  substance,  for  the  loan  of  thirty 
pounds  ; and  shortly  after,  we  find  him  express- 
ing his  readiness  to  lend,  on  proper  security, 
a sum  of  money  for  the  use  of  the  town  of 
Stratford.  His  continued  advance  in  worldly 
consideration  is  indicated  by  his  further  pur- 
chases. In  1602,  according  to  Wheeler,  he. 
gave  320/.  for  one  hundred  and  seventy  acres, 
of  land,  which  he  added  to  his  estate  in  New 
Place.  In  1605,  he  bought  for  440/.  a moiety 


2x6 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


of  the  great  and  small  tithes  of  Stratford  ; and 
in  1613,  a tenement  in  Blackfriars  for  140/. 
It  is  remarkable  in  this  latter  purchase,  that 
only  80/.  of  the  money  was  paid  down,  the 
residue  being  left  as  a mortgage  on  the 
premises.  Malone  is  of  opinion  that  his  annual 
income  could  not  have  been  less  than  200/., 
which,  at  the  age  when  he  lived,  was  equal  to 
800/.  at  present. 

Several  of  the  nobility,  particularly  the  earls 
of  Pembroke  and  Montgomery,  vied  with 
Southampton  in  conferring  benefits  on  Shaks- 
peare,  and  he  was  distinguished  in  a most 
flattering  manner  by  the  favor  of  two  succes- 
sive sovereigns.  We  are  told  that  the  Merry 
Wives  of  Windsor  (the  first  draught  of  which 
was  finished  in  a fortnight)  was  written  ex- 
pressly at  command  of  the  Virgin  Quee7i , who 
being  highly  delighted  with  Falstaff’s  humor 
in  He?iry  IV. , wished  him  to  be  exhibited 
under  the  influence  of  lovre.  The  character  of 
Falstaff,  one  of  the  happiest  and  most  original 
of  all  the  author’s  efforts,  was,  according  to 
Bowman  the  player,  who  cited  Sir  William 
Bishop  as  his  authority,  drawn  from  a towns- 
man of  Stratford,  who  either  faithlessly  broke 
a contract,  or  spitefully  refused  to  part  with 
some  land,  for  a valuable  consideration,  ad- 
joining to  Shakspeare’s,  in  or  near  the  town. 

The  author’s  reputation  was  no  doubt  in- 
creased by  the  approbation  of  his  royal  mis- 
tress, which  in  all  likelihood  was  the  only  solid 
advantage  he  obtained  from  her  notice.  Rowe 


LIFE  OF  SH A KS PE  A RE. 


217 


celebrates  the  “ many  gracious  marks  of  her 
favor  ” which  Shakspeare  received  ; but  no 
traces  of  any  pecuniary  reward  from  her  mu- 
nificence are  to  be  found,  and  the  almost  in- 
variable parsimony  of  Elizabeth  towards  literary 
men  may  fairly  induce  us  to  question  whether 
her  generosity  was  exhibted  in  anything  more 
substantial  than  praise,  notwithstanding  all 
the  elegant  flattery  which  the  poet  offered  on 
the  shrine  of  her  vanity.  Elizabeth  was  cer- 
tainly a very  highly-gifted  woman,  but  she  was 
too  selfish  to  pay  for  applause,  which  she  was 
sure  of  obtaining  at  an  easier  rate. 

In  James  I.  the  stage  found  a warm  and 
generous  patron.  In  1599  he  gave  protection 
to  a company  of  English  comedians  in  his 
Scottish  capital ; and  he  had  no  sooner 
ascended  the  British  throne  than  he  effected 
an  absolute  change  in  the  theatrical  world.  In 
the  first  year  of  his  reign,  an  act  of  parliament 
passed  which  took  from  the  nobility  the 
privilege  of  liscensing  comedians,  and  all  the 
skeleton  companies  then  existing  were  im- 
mediately united  into  three  regular  establish- 
ments patronized  by  the  royal  family.  Henry, 
prince  of  Wales,  became  the  patron  of  lord 
Nottingham’s  company,  which  performed  at 
the  Curtain  ; the  Earl  of  Worcester’s  servants, 
who  commonly  acted  at  the  Red  Bull,  were 
turned  over  to  the  queen,  and  ultimately 
designated  Children  of  the  Revels ; while  the 
king  declared  the  lord  Chamberlain’s  com- 
pany under  his  own  special  care.  The  license 


21 8 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


which  James  granted  to  Laurence  Fletcher, 
William  Shakspeare,  Richard  Burbage,  and 
others,  dated  May  19,  1603,  constituted  them 
his  servants,  gave  them  legal  possession  of 
their  usual  house,  the  Globe,  and  allowed 
them  to  exhibit  every  kind  of  dramatic  repre- 
sentation, in  all  suitable  places  in  his  domin- 
ions. From  this  document  we  learn  that  the 
Globe  was  the  theater  generally  occupied  by 
the  lord  chamberlain’s  servants  ; but  they  had 
some  interest  in  the  house  at  Blackfriars, 
which,  in  the  end,  they  purchased.  At  these 
theaters  all  Shakspeare’s  plays  were  origin- 
ally acted  ; the  Globe  was  the  summer , the 
Blackfriars  the  winter  house  of  the  company 
with  which  he  was  connected. 

Though  Elizabeth  and  James  were  particu- 
larly fond  of  dramatic  representations,  it  does 
not  appear  that  they  ever  visited  the  public 
theaters  ; they  gratified  their  taste  by  com- 
manding the  comedians  to  perform  plays  at 
court.  These  entertainments  were  usually 
given  at  night,  which  arrangement  suited  the 
actors,  as  the  theaters  were  generally  open  in 
the  morning.  The  ordinary  fee  for  such  a 
performance  in  London  was  61.  13s.  4 d.,  and 
an  additional  3/.  6s.  &d.  was  sometimes  be- 
stowed by  the  bounty  of  royalty. 

Shakspeare  soon  became  important  in  the 
management  of  the  theater,  and  participated 
in  all  the  emoluments  of  the  company.  It  is 
impossible  to  estimate  his  income  from  this 
source  ; we  are  ignorant  into  how  many  shares 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE, 


219 


this  theatrical  property  was  divided  ; nor  can 
we  tell  what  proportion  of  them  was  enjoyed 
by  our  poet.  If,  however,  he  was  equal  with 
Heminges,  who  is  joined  with  him  in  the 
license,  we  are  authorized  by  his  partner  to 
assert  that  it  produced,  “ a good  yearly  in- 
come.^ ” This  worldly  elevation  induced  him 
to  quit  the  drudgery  of  an  actor,  which  em- 
ployment he  speaks  of  in  his  Sonnets  with 
disgust,  and  thenceforth  he  seems  to  have 
yielded  all  the  powers  of  his  comprehensive 
mind  to  the  improvement  of  dramatic  litera- 
ture. The  affectionate  wish  which  Shak- 
speare  formed  in  early  life,  to  return,  after  his 
brilliant  career,  to  his  native  Stratford,  and 
die  at  home,  induced  him  to  purchase  New 
Place,  in  1597.  In  the  pleasure  ground  of 
that  unassuming  mansion,  he  planted  with  his 
own  hand  a mulberry  tree,  which  flourished 
for  many  years,  and  was  regarded  with  rever- 
ence. To  this  favorite  spot,  in  1613  or  1614, 
he  retired  from  the  applauses  of  his  contem- 
poraries and  the  bustle  of  the  world,  to  the 
genuine  repose  and  unsophisticated  pleasures 
of  a country  life.  Aubrey  informs  us,  that  it 
was  our  bard’s  custom  to  visit  Stratford 
yearly  : but  previous  to  1596,  the  place  of  his 
residence  in  London  has  not  been  discovered. 
He  then  lodged  near  the  Bear  Garden  in 
Southwark,  and  it  is  not  improbable  that  he 
remained  there  till  his  final  retirement  from 
the  metropolis. 

Much  has  been  said  of  the  rivalship  and 


220 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE . 


dissension  between  Ben  Jonson  and  Shaks- 
peare  : we  shall  give  a few  particulars,  from 
which  we  think  it  will  appear  that  they  both 
were  entirely  free  from  personal  ill-will. 
Pope  says,  that  Jonson  “ loved  Shakspeare 
as  well  as  honored  his  memory,  celebrates  the 
honesty,  openness,  and  frankness  of  his  tem- 
per, and  only  distinguishes,  as  he  reasonably 
ought,  between  the  real  merit  of  the  author, 
and  the  silly  and  derogatory  applauses  of  the 
players.”  Gilchrist,  a very  clever  critic,  pub- 
lished a pamphlet  to  prove  that  Jonson  was 
never  a harsh  or  envious  rival  of  Shakspeare, 
and  that  the  popular  opinion  on  the  subject 
is  altogether  erroneous.  Rowe  gives  us  the 
subjoined  anecdote,  which  has  been  thought 
worthy  of  credit  : “ Mr.  Jonson,  who  was  at 
that  time  altogether  unknown  to  the  world, 
had  offered  one  of  his  plays  to  the  players  in 
order  to  have  it  acted ; and  the  persons  into 
whose  hands  it  was  put,  after  having  turned 
it  carelessly  and  superciliously  over,  were  just 
upon  returning  it  to  him  with  an  ill-natured 
answer,  that  it  would  be  of  no  service  to  their 
company,  when  Shakspeare  luckily  cast  his 
eye  upon  it,  and  found  something  so  well  in 
it  as  to  engage  him  first  to  read  it  through, 
and  afterwards  to  recommend  Mr.  Jonson 
and  his  writings  to  the  public.”  It  is  not  a 
little  remarkable,  that  Jonson  seems  to  have 
held  a higher  place  in  public  estimation  than 
our  poet,  for  more  than  a century  after  the 
death  of  the  latter.  Within  that  period,  Ben’s 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE . 


221 


works  went  through  numerous  editions,  and 
were  read  with  eagerness,  while  Shakspeare’s 
remained  in  comparative  neglect  till  the  time 
of  Rowe : of  this  fact,  abundant  evidence 
might  be  given  ; not  only  was  Jonson  pre- 
ferred, but  even  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  with 
many  dramatic  writers  infinitely  below  them 
in  merit,  were  exalted  above  him. 

Fuller’s  comparative  view  of  these  illustrious 
writers  is  highly  interesting : “ Shakspeare 

was  an  eminent  instance  of  the  truth  of  that 
rule  : Poeia  non  fit , sed  nascitur  (one  is  not 
made,  but  born  a poet).  Indeed  his  learning 
was  but  very  little ; so  that  as  Cornish 
Diamonds  are  not  polished  by  any  lapidary, 
but  are  pointed  and  smooth  even  as  they  are 
taken  out  of  the  earth,  so  nature  itself  was  all 
the  art  which  was  used  upon  him.  Many  were 
the  wit  combats  betwixt  him  and  Ben  Jonson, 
which  two  I beheld,  like  a Spanish  great  gal 
leon , and  an  English  man  of  war ! Master 
Jonson,  like  the  former,  was  built  far  higher 
in  learning,  solid  but  slow  in  his  performances. 
Shakspeare,  with  the  English  man  of  wary 
lesser  in  bulk,  but  lighter  in  sailing,  could  turn 
with  all  tides,  and  take  advantage  of  all  winds, 
by  the  quickness  of  his  wit  and  invention.” 

The  following  anecdote,  preserved  by 
Malone,  will  serve  to  show  the  habits  of  close 
intimacy  in  which  these  great  and  amiable 
men  lived.  In  the  serious  business  of  life, 
rivals,  and  even  enemies,  are  often  obliged  to 
associate  ; but  when  we  find  men  seeking  each 


222 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 


other  in  the  season  of  relaxation,  and  mingling 
thoughts  in  their  sportive  humors,  we  may 
safely  pronounce  them  to  be  friends.  An 
amicable  dispute  arose  concerning  the  motto 
of  the  Globe  theater,  “ Totus  mundus  agit  his - 
trionem  ; ” (all  the  world  acts  a play ;)  some 
condemed  it  as  unmeaning,  others  declared 
it  to  be  a fine  piece  of  sententious  wisdom ; 
Jonson,  being  asked  for  his  opinion,  wrote  on 
a scrap  of  paper, 

“ If  but  stage  actors  all  the  world  displays, 

Where  shall  we  find  spectators  of  their  plays  ? ” 

Shakspeare  smiled,  and  taking  the  pen,  set 
down  these  lines  under  Ben’s  couplet  : 

“ Little  or  much  of  what  we  see  we  do, 

We’re  all  both  actors  and  spectators  too.” 

All  this  may  be  called  trifling,  but  even  trifles 
become  interesting  when  connected  with  a Jon- 
son and  a Shakspeare. 

Mr.  Gifford  has  triumphantly  proved,  that 
the  once  generally  received  opinion  of  Jonson’s 
malignant  feelings  towards  his  friend  and  bene- 
factor, is  void  of  the  slightest  foundations  in 
fact ; on  the  contrary,  we  are  justified  in  believ- 
ing that  the  author  of  Sejanus  was,  on  all  occa- 
sions, ready  to  admit  the  wonderful  merit  of 
his  less  learned,  but  more  highly-gifted  contem- 
porary. His  lines  under  Shakspeare’s  effigy 
breathe  the  warmest  spirit  of  reverence  and 
love  ; 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE . 


223 


“ The  figure  that  thou  here  seest  put, 

It  was  for  gentle  Shakspeare  cut ; 

Wherein  the  graver  had  a strife 
With  nature  to  outdo  the  life. 

O,  could  he  but  have  drawne  his  wit 
As  well  in  brass  as  he  hath  hit 
His  face,  the  print  would  then  surpass 
All  that  was  ever  writ  in  brass  : 

But  since  he  cannot,  reader,  looke 
Not  on  his  picture  but  his  booke.” 

Queen  Elizabeth  used  sometimes  to  sit  be- 
hind the  scenes,  while  her  favorite  plays  were 
performing  : one  evening,  Shakspeare  enacted 
the  part  of  a monarch  (probably,  in  Henry  IV.). 
The  audience  knew  that  her  majesty  was  pres- 
ent. She  crossed  the  stage  while  Shakspeare 
was  acting,  and  being  loudly  greeted  by  the 
spectators,  curtsied  politely  to  the  poet,  who 
took  no  notice  of  her  condescension.  When 
behind  the  scenes,  she  caught  his  eye  and 
moved  again,  but  still  he  would  not  throw  off 
his  character  to  pay  her  any  attention.  This 
made  her  majesty  think  of  some  means  to 
know  whether  she  could  induce  him  to  forget 
the  dignity  of  his  character  while  on  the  stage. 
Accordingly,  as  he  was  about  to  make  his  exit, 
she  stepped  before  him,  dropped  her  glove, 
and  re-crossed  the  stage,  which  Shakspeare 
noticing,  took  it  up  with  these  words,  so  im- 
mediately after  finishing  his  speech  that  they 
seemed  to  belong  to  it : 


And  though  now  bent  on  this  high  embassy, 
Yet  stoop  we  to  take  up  our  cousin’s  glove.” 


224 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE . 


He  then  withdrew  from  the  stage,  and  pre- 
sented the  glove  to  the  queen,  who  was  much 
pleased  with  his  behavior,  and  complimented 
him  on  its  propriety. 

One  evening,  Burbage  performed  Richard 
III.,  and  while  behind  the  scenes,  Shakspeare 
overheard  him  making  an  assignation  with  a 
lady  of  considerable  beauty.  Burgage  was  to 
knock  at  her  chamber-door  : she  was  to  say, 
“ Who  comes  there  ? ” and  on  receiving  for 
answer,  “ ’Tis  I,  Richard  the  Third,”  the 
favored  tragedian  was  to  be  admitted.  Shaks- 
peare instantly  determined  to  keep  the  ap- 
pointment himself.  Tapping  at  the  lady’s 
door,  he  made  the  expected  response  to  her 
interrogatary,  and  gained  admittance.  The 
poet’s  eloquence  soon  converted  the  fair  one’s 
anger  into  satisfaction  ; but  the  real  'Simon 
Pure  quickly  arrived  ; he  rapped  loudly,  and 
to  the  expected  query  replied,  “ ’Tis  I,  Richard 
the  Third.”  “ Then,”  quoth  Shakspeare,  44  go 
thy  ways,  Burby,  for  thou  knowest  that  Will- 
iam the  Conqueror  reigned  before  Richard  the 
Third.” 

Rowe  says  : “ The  latter  part  of  his  life  was 
spent,  as  all  men  of  good  sense  would  wish 
theirs  may  be,  in  ease,  retirement,  and  the  con- 
versation of  his  friends.  His  pleasurable  wit 
.and  good  nature  engaged  him  in  the  acquaint- 
ance, and  entitled  him  to  the  friendship,  of 
the  gentlemen  of  the  neighborhood.”  And  in 
the  words  of  Dr.  Drake,  44  He  was  high  in  rep- 
utation as  a poet,  favored  by  the  great  and 


LIFE  OF  S HA  KSPE  A RE.  225 

accomplished,  and  beloved  by  all  who  knew 
him.”  Nothing  can  be  more  delightful  than 
to  contemplate  this  wonderful  man,  in  the 
vigor  of  his  age,  and  in  the  full  possession  of 
his  amazing  faculties,  retiring  from  the  scene 
of  his  well-earned  triumphs,  to  find,  in  the  com- 
parative exclusion  of  his  native  town,  that  re- 
pose and  quietude,  both  in  mind  and  body, 
which  is  not  to  be  looked  for  in  the  bustle  of 
the  world.  And  if  he,  whose  glory  was  to  fill 
the  universe,  and  whose  pursuits  (if  anything 
connected  with  time  can  be)  were  worthy  of  an 
immortal  soul,  could  pant  for  retirement  in  the 
meridian  of  his  days,  what  excuse  have  they 
who,  in  senectude  and  feebleness,  continue  to 
toil  among  the  mole-hills  of  earth  for  a little 
perishable  gold,  for  which  they  have  no  use 
when  they  have  obtained  it  ? 

Shakspeare  retired  from  the  metropolis  at  a 
period  little  past  the  prime  of  life.  We  meet 
with  no  hint  of  any  failure  in  his  constitution  ; 
and  the  execution  of  his  will,  in  “ perfect  health 
and  memory,”  on  the  25th  of  March,  1616, 
warrants  no  immediate  expectation  of  his  de- 
cease. The  curtain  was  now  to  fall,  however, 
on  this  earthly  stage  of  existence.  He  died 
on  the  23d  of  April,  the  anniversary  of  his 
birth , having  exactly  completed  his  fifty-second 
year.  On  the  25th,  two  days  after  his  death, 
his  body  was  laid  in  its  original  dust,  being 
buried  under  the  north  side  of  the  chancel  of 
the  great  church  of  Stratford ; a flat  stone, 
protecting  all  that  was  perishable  of  the 


226 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE . 


remains  of  Shakspeare,  bears  this  inscrip- 
tion : 

“ Good  friend,  for  Jesus’  sake  forbeare 
To  digg  the  dust  enclosed  here  : 

Bless’d  be  the  man  that  spares  these  stones, 

And  curst  be  he  that  moves  my  bones.” 

The  common  opinion  is  that  these  lines  were 
written  by  the  poet  himself ; but  this  notion 
has,  perhaps,  originated  solely  from  the  use  of 
the  word  “ my  ” in  the  closing  line.  “ The 
imprecation,”  says  Malone,  was  probably  sug- 
gested by  an  apprehension  “ that  our  author’s 
remains  might  share  the  same  fate  with  those 
of  the  rest  of  his  countrymen,  and  be  added  to 
the  immense  pile  of  human  bones  deposited  in 
Stratford  charnel-house.” 

We  shall  now  give  a brief  abstract  of  Shaks- 
peare’s  will,  which  is  yet  extant  in  the  Pre- 
rogative Office.  It  bears  the  date,  March  25, 
1616,  and  commences  with  the  following  para- 
graphs : 

“ In  the  name  of  God,  amen.  I,  William 
Shakspeare,  at  Stratford-upon-Avon,  in  the 
county  of  Warwick,  gent.,  in  perfect  health  and 
memory,  (God  be  praised  !)  do  make  and  or- 
dain this  my  last  will  and  testament  in  manner 
and  form  following  : that  is  to  say : 

u First,  I commend  my  soul  into  the  hands 
of  God  my  creator,  hoping,  and  assuredly  be- 
lieving, through  the  only  merits  of  Jesus  Christ, 
my  Saviour,  to  be  made  partaker  of  life  everlast- 
ing ; and  my  body  to  the  earth  whereof  it  is 
made.” 


LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE.  227 

It  then  proceeds  to  make  the  bequests 
enumerated  below  : 

To  his  daughter  Judith  he  gave  1*50/.  of  law- 
ful English  money  ; 100/.  to  be  paid  in  dis- 
charge of  her  marriage-portion  within  one  year 
after  his  decease,  and  the  remaining  50/.  upon 
her  giving  up  to  her  elder  sister,  Susanna 
Hall,  all  her  right  in  a copyhold  tenement 
and  appurtenances,  parcel  of  the  manor  of 
Rowington.  To  the  said  Judith  he  also  be- 
queathed 150/.  more,  if  she  or  any  of  her  issue 
were  living  three  years  from  the  date  of  his 
will ; but,  in  the  contrary  event,  then  he  di- 
rected that  100 L of  the  sum  should  be  paid  to 
his  niece,  Elizabeth  Hall,  and  the  proceeds  of 
the  50/.  to  his  sister  Joan,  or  Jone  Hart,  for 
life,  with  residue  to  her  children.  He  further 
gave  to  the  said  Judith  abroad  silver-gilt  bowl. 
To  his  sister  Joan,  besides  the  contingent  be- 
quest above  mentioned,  he  gave  20/.  and  all 
his  wearing  apparel ; also  the  house  in  Strat- 
ford, in  which  she  was  to  reside  for  her 
natural  life,  under  the  yearly  rent  of  twelve- 

pence.  To  her  three  sons,  William  Hart, 

Hart,  and  Michael  Hart,  he  gave  5/.  apiece,  to 
be  paid  within  one  year  after  his  decease. 
To  his  grand-daughter,  Elizabeth  Hall,  he  be- 
queathed all  his  plate,  the  silver  bowl  above 
excepted.  To  the  poor  of  Stratford  he  be- 
queathed 10/.  ; to  Mr.  Thomas  Cole,  his 
sword  ; to  Thomas  Russel,  5/.  ; to  Francis 
Collins,  Esq.,  13/.  6^.  Sd.  ; to  Hamlet  (Ham- 
net),  saddler,  1 /.  6s.  Sd.  to  buy  a ring;  and  a 


228 


LIFE  OF  SHAHS  PE  ARE. 


like  sum,  for  the  same  purpose,  to  William 
Renolds,  gent.,  Anthony  Nash,  gent.,  John 
Heminge,  Richard  Burbage,  and  Henry 
Cundell,  his  “ fellows  ” ; also  twenty  shillings 
in  gold  to  his  godson,  William  Walker.  To 
his  daughter,  Susanna  Hall,  he  bequeathed 
New  Place,  with  the  appurtenances,  situated 
in  Henley ‘Street ; also,  all  his  “ barns,  stables, 
orchards,  gardens,  lands,  tenements  and  hered- 
itaments whatsoever,  situate,  lying,  and  being, 
or  to  be  had,  received,  perceived,  or  taken, 
within  the  towns,  hamlets,  villages,  fields,  and 
ground  of  Stratford-upon-Avon,  Old  Stratford, 
Bishopton,  and  Welcombe,  or  in  any  of  them 
in  the  said  county  of  Warwick ; and  also  all 
that  messuage  or  tenement,  with  the  appur- 
tenances, wherein  one  John  Robinson  dwelleth, 
situated,  lying,  and  being  in  the  Blackfriars, 
London,  near  the  Wardrobe  : and  all  my  other 
lands,  tenements,  and  hereditaments  whatso- 
ever, to  have  and  to  hold  all  and  singular  the 
said  premises,  with  their  appurtenances,  unto 
the  said  Susanna  Hall,  for  and  during  the 
term  of  her  natural  life  : and,  after  her  decease, 
to  the  first  son  of  her  body,  lawfully  issuing; 
and  to  the  heirs  male  of  her  said  first  son, 
lawfully  issuing;  and  for  default  of  such  issue, 
to  the  second  son  of  her  body,  lawfully  issuing, 
and  to  the  heirs  male  of  the  said  second  son,  law- 
fully issuing  ; ” and  so  forth  as  to  third,  fourth, 
fifth,  sixth,  and  seventh  sons  of  her  body,  and 
their  heirs  male : “ and  for  default  of  such 
issue,  the  said  premises  to  be  and  remain  to 


(f  r p i v, 

LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE . 229 

my  niece  Hall,  and  the  heirs  male  of  her  body, 
lawfully  issuing  ; and  for  default  of  such  issue, 
to  her  daughter  Judith,  and  the  heirs  male  of 
her  body  lawfully  issuing  ; and  for  default  of 
such  issue,  to  the  right  heirs  of  me  the  said 
William  Shakspeare.”  To  the  said  Susanna 
Hall  and  her  husband,  whom  he  appointed 
executors  of  his  will,  under  the  direction  of 
Francis  Collins  and  Thomas  Russel,  Esqs.,  he 
further  bequeathed  all  the  rest  of  his  “ goods, 
chatties,  leases,  plate,  jewels,  and  household 
stuff  whatsoever,”  after  the  payment  of  his 
debts,  legacies,  and  funeral  expenses ; with 
the  exception  of  his  “ second-best  bed , with  the 
furniture”  which  constituted  the  only  bequest 
he  made  to  his  wife , and  that  by  insertion  after 
the  will  was  written  out. 

A few  additional  facts  respecting  Shaks- 
peare’s  family  may  be  acceptable.  His  wife 
survived  him  seven  years,  and  was  buried  be- 
tween his  grave  and  the  north  wall  of  the 
chancel,  under  a stone  inlaid  with  brass,  and 
inscribed  thus  : 

“ Heere  lyeth  interred  the  bodye  of  Anne, 
wife  of  Mr.  William  Shakspeare,  who  departed 
this  life  the  sixth  day  of  August,  1623,  being 
at  the  age  of  sixty-seven  yeares.” 

We  have  thus,  as  briefly  as  the  importance 
of  such  a memoir  would  permit,  gone  over  the 
meager  biographical  remains  of  the  noblest 
dramatic  poet  the  world  has  ever  produced. 
Without  attempting  to  draw  the  character  of 
this  matchless  writer,  we  have  occasionally,  in 


t.  \\  f n fi  (i  ; 

230  LIFE  OF  SHAKSPEARE . 

the  course  of  our  narrative,  endeavored  to 
mark  the  feeling  of  respect  and  admiration  by 
which  we  are  influenced  while  contemplating 
the  mighty  performances  of  a mind  which,  with 
little  assistance  from  education,  surpassed  all 
the  efforts  of  ancient  and  modern  genius. 


u 


CHRONOLOGICAL  ORDER  OF  SHAKS- 
PEARE’S DRAMAS. 

ON  THE  AUTHORITY  OF  MALONE,  CHALMERS, 
AND  KNIGHT. 

The  ensuing  enumeration  of  Shakspeare’s 
dramas,  with  the  dates  assigned  by  the  most 
generally  received  authorities,  is  merely  given 
as  a matter  of  curiosity  ; for  the  learned  com- 
mentators are  so  much  at  variance  in  their 
chronology,  that  it  deserves  little  or  no  atten- 
tion. Indeed,  when  we  reflect  that  the  first  edi- 
tion of  our  author  did  not  appear  till  several 
years  after  his  death,  and  was  then  published  by 
the  players,  who,  it  can  scarcely  be  supposed, 
would  pay  any  regard  to  the  order  of  time  in 
their  arrangement  of  the  dramas,  it  must  be 
obvious  that,  with  a very  few  exceptions,  the 
dates  given  to  those  compositions  are  purely 
conjectural.  A cloud  rests  over  Shakspeare’s 
career  as  an  author,  which  is  not  now  likely 
to  be  dispersed  ; those  who  were  most  familiar 
with  the  operations  of  his  extraordinary  genius 
seem  to  have  been  hardly  aW*are  c<  that  he  was 
not  for  a day,  but  for  all  time ; ” they  paid 
their  shillings  and  applauded  his  productions 
on  the  stage,  perhaps,  but  they  had  little  taste 

231 


/.  \\ 

232  ORDER  OF  SHAKSPEARE'S  DRAMAS. 

or  inclination  to  do  them  justice  in  the  closet. 
Shakspeare  himself  appears  to  have  been  re- 
markably careless  of  his  own  fame  : he  pro- 
duced his  great  works  without  effort,  and  be- 
queathed them  to  his  country,  unconscious  of 
their  merit,  and  reckless  of  their  fate. 


Malone . Chalmers.  Knight. 


Pericles Not  acknowledged. 

First  Part  of  King  Henry 

1609 

VI 

z589 

x589 

z592 

Second  ditto 

*59° 

*594 

Third  ditto 

A Midsummer  Night’s 

IS9I 

IS9S 

1 595 

Dream 

z592 

z598 

1 598 

Comedy  of  Errors 

z593 

1591 

z598 

Taming  of  the  Shrew 

J594 

z598 

1607 

Love’s  Labor’s  Lost 

*594 

J592 

z598 

Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona 

1595 

1 595 

ZS98 

Romeo  and  Juliet 

J 595 

z592 

1 597 

Hamlet 

1596 

1 597 

1603 

King  John 

z596 

I598 

ZS98 

King  Richard  II 

1 597 

1 595 

ZS96 

King  Richard  III 

First  Part  of  King  Henry 

*597 

1 595 

1 597 

IV 

1 597 

iS96 

z598 

Second  ditto 

z598 

1 597 

l600 

Merchant  of  Venice 

T598 

iS97 

J598 

All’s  Well  that  Ends  Well 

z598 

z599 

z598 

King  Henry  V 

J599 

1597 

1600 

Much  Ado  about  Nothing 

l600 

J599 

l600 

As  You  Like  It 

1600 

z599 

l600 

Merry  Wives  of  Windsor... 

l60I 

z596 

l602 

))  u 't  IU 

ORDER  OF  SHAKSPEA RE'S  DRAMAS . 233 


Malone . Chalmers.  Knight. 


King  Henry  VIII 

1601 

1613 

1613 

Troilus  and  Cressida 

1602 

1600 

1609 

Measure  for  Measure. . . . 

1603 

1604 

1604 

The  Winter’s  Tale 

1604 

1601 

161 1 

King  Lear 

1605 

1605 

1607 

Cymbeline 

1605 

1606 

— 

Macbeth 

1606 

1606 

— 

Julius  Csesar 

1607 

1607 

— 

Antony  and  Cleopatra.... 

1608 

1608 

— 

Timon  of  Athens 

1609 

1601 

- — 

Coriolanus 

1610 

1609 

- — 

Othello 

161 1 

1614 

1602 

The  Tempest 

1612 

1613 

161 1 

Twelfth  Night 

1614 

1608 

1602 

Titus  Andronicus  not 

acknowledged  by 

these  critics,  nor  indeed 

by  any  author  of 

credit,  but  originally  published  about  1589. 


THE  END. 


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